A Nightmare Walking
by The Readers Muse
Summary: An unlikely story of survival, from someone who ironically expected to be the first perish.
1. Chapter 1

**Authors note:** Hello everyone, this is my first attempt at zombie fanfiction. It is related to the movie: "Dawn of the Dead" but does not follow the movies plot. This is my first chapter, please read and review and let me know if you want to see chapter 2 and possibly beyond. The idea for this story simply came to me, and I have been flying by the seat of my pants ever since. Oh, and don't let the first chapter fool you, be ready for zombie action, this is just an introduction. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer:** I do not in any way shape or form own any of the plot, characters, etc. They belong to whoever owns 'em. I just took the general idea for a test jaunt. So, don't sue me...not that it would be beneficial, as I am a poor college student, yadda yadda yadda.

How does one pick up something and move on when everything is broken? Sounds dramatic I know, but it is actually quite a relevant observation. Maybe someday, the world will become right again, and things will be better. Maybe someday, I can drive downtown and get my Starbucks fix, while reading the latest fantasy thriller on the best sellers list. Right now though, the closest I get to Starbucks is blasting the brains out of one of their employees. A shame really, I could use a good latte.

Really, I have it good. My life right now is better then most. The guilt eats at me sometimes, being a survivor. Being one of the few left, when so many people didn't make it, contrary to popular belief is not a big bunch of laughs. My friends here would laugh at this if they heard me say it, but I never thought I would survive an infestation. My old friends loved to watch the horror movies; I grudgingly got pulled in too. Damn. Those movies gave me nightmares, so many hours spend awake at night, staring at the ceiling, alert any sound, any movement. Nowadays, that gives me a laugh. But, really, we talked about what we would do, where we would go. They spouted fantastic plans, and pondered how much survival instinct they would have. These talks usually ended up concluding in skin-tight camo clothes and hot-shot gun-toting crazies. Meanwhile, when asked, I said, well, that I doubted I would survive. Man, I think God spited me, just to prove me wrong. I guess in a way I am doomed to live in one of my own nightmares. God. How depressing is that?

Well, just listen to me. This is turning out to be a monster-shall-my-pain rally! I guess because of the circumstances the critics of the future will forgive me, maybe even publish me, if this account is ever found, doubtful, but you never know…Hey! If Anne Frank did it, so can I. I have to say, our circumstances are somewhat similar, but instead of Nazi's, I have Zombies. Kinda makes the Nazi's look like cute, harmless, sensible puppies huh?

Yeah, I said Zombies, many people were slow on the uptake here to, and most of them are dead. I guess I could tell you my story…but, be warned; this is real, not like some fan fiction you read on the internet, were everyone has huge trucks, rich friends, and guns under their living room doilies. This is my story, where the only thing I started with was a nail file and Honda civic, my mom's car to boot.

My story didn't start on a dark stormy night, were the wind whistled and trees creaked….actually, it began (for me) in the afternoon. It must have been 2 years ago now, yes, it was, January 4th, 2007. My, the years fly when you are trying not to be eaten.

I think that day will forever be imprinted in my memory, sounds lame, I know, but this is one of those things that just are, no matter how lame it sounds to say it. I woke up that morning, and my old life ended.


	2. Chapter 2

**Authors note:** This chapter is kind-of where the action begins. Sorry for the short length of the previous chapter, I wanted to add on to it from this chapter, but felt that where I cut off the previous chapter off was an appropriate break point. In this chapter the rating is in the middle of a **Teen to Mature **caution. Due to some gory scenes and language. As always, a writer wants to know how you are enjoying the story, please review. I am open to considerations, advise, praise (flutters eyelashes becomingly) hehe, as well as constructive criticism is welcome. I am always looking for ways to improve. -Regards.

I woke up to the sounds of wailing sirens and panicked shouts. Wondering what was going on, I pulled on my housecoat and padded to the kitchen, yawning. I remember vaguely thinking that I would have to take my computer to be repaired today, as the Internet was screwed. Pausing on my way to the kitchen, I scooped up my dog, who had be growling at the window. I looked up, and prompted dropped my her, my quiet, middle class neighborhood had gone to hell. And I mean that literally. Mr. Bradley's house, across the street was on fire, smoke pouring out of their smashed living room window. I could hear screams, and yells, rising and falling at indiscriminate times, and shapes moving, obscured by the billowing smoke. I grabbed the phone, and dialed 911, I groaned in frustration as I got a busy signal. Setting the phone on automatic redial, and wrenched open the door to our front deck. In the distance, my small city burned. What the fuck is happening I wondered. Still getting no answer, I dial the number of my boyfriends house, but had just as much luck reaching him then the authorities. Slightly panicking, I wished desperately that my family was home, my parents were out, and my sister was at work. Here I was stuck, all alone while the world was going nuts.

Suddenly, there was a pounding at the front door, frightened, instead of going downstairs to answer it, I leaned over the front railing. A move that most likely saved my ass. Pounding on my door was Mrs. Brent, but something was horribly wrong, I couldn't see her face, but she was wearing a skimpy bed shift, and her body was covered in gaping tears, that caused streams of blood to drip down her entire body. Thinking back on it now, it was like a Bloody Mary, but with Mrs. Brent instead of a Mary. My mind sprung to about fifty different conclusions over the space of about ten seconds. Finally, I shouted something retarded like: "What's wrong!? Are you hurt?" ….as I said, dumb, but I wasn't sure what else to say. With a snarl, she turned, and I almost wetted my pyjama pants in fear…come to think of it, I actually did piss my pants. And with good reason, her face looked like someone had been chewing on it. From her cheek to neck, muscle and ligaments were clearly visible. It was defiantly an occasion that merited the peeing of your pants in my book. She reached desperately in vain for me, her mouth gaped open emitting a frothy sounding moan, as blood gurgled in her wind pipe. I simply stared, my mouth open in a soundless scream. How would you feel if your hugest fear came to life, and was standing on your front landing, moaning for your flesh? The world seriously became fucked up since that first morning.

A frightened scream shook me from my place on the deck, and I looked down the street as a person staggered out from the smoke that obscured the street. They were running, screaming for help as they stumbled up the street. I was about to cry out to them, when, legs pumping like Olympian runners, a knot of Zombies came through the gloom, in fast pursuit. Mrs. Brent stumbled to the road to join the group, and in seconds it was all over. Screeching in agony, the person was brought to the ground, and literally became the-all-you-can-eat buffet for about seven of those creatures. I couldn't even look away when the screams stopped and glistening intestines were pulled from the chest and stuffed greedily into their gaping mouths. Suddenly, another person, fleeing caught their attention, and they once again took off in pursuit, leaving behind the corpse of their previous feast, in the middle of the sidewalk, as a growing puddle of blood seeped into the white concrete. Looking around, as the smoke shifted in the wind, the evidence was all round me, groups of the undead smashed their fists into doors and windows, scrabbling through broken doors and windows when they broke them, screams followed. Cars with broken windows, stained with blood, blood was everywhere. If I remember anything, it was the amount of blood. I thought it would stain the world red.

I vaguely remember trembling, pressed against the cold deck railings. Watching as the undead stalked the living. Looking back up the street, I noticed the corpse of the person had vanished, leaving behind only a dark red smudge to show that it they had ever existed, ever fought till the last second, to hold on to their own life. I think it was then when I realized this was it. No one is coming home for me, I had to do what I could to help myself. I hurried inside, and breathing hard, made myself think of what to do….What should I do? Shit. Where is a zombie expert when you need them? The thought was so ridiculous I almost giggled. I decided to firstly check the windows and doors, I pulled the blinds on all the windows in the house, I figured any movement inside might serve to attract these creatures. Then, grabbed the phone again, and dialed 911 again. Amazingly a buzz and a slightly hysterical female voice answered on the line. Babbling with relief I told her my situation, when I finished, I heard her breathing hard on the other end of the line. "Its happening all over town madam, all over Canada in fact. There are even reports of a world wide infection!" She responded. I asked her if she could send help over for our neighborhood. The static increased as she answered: " We'll psst but lost contact buzz most of the units. Just stay inside, ppppsttttt out - buzz - contact with them, might be how buzz spreads. We are on ----- click". Shit! The connection went dead, my contact to the outside, gone in a second. Putting the phone on the receiver I chanced a peek outside, more of the creatures roamed the streets, occasional breaking into a sprint when they located a person. I looked towards the town and saw only a cloud of black, billowing smoke, and hearing the constant wail of sirens. Fuck I thought, my family was down in that hell, it had to be worse there then here, there was more people in the city center. A few tears trickled down my cheek, I wiped them away angrily, this was no time to fall to pieces, there would be time enough for that later….


	3. Chapter 3

Backing away from the window I set off down the hall to my room, moving quietly, I didn't want to chance attracting those things. Outside, the moans and howling rose in an unsteady crescendo, rising and falling as they discovered fresh flesh to feast upon. I opened my closet and pulled out my duffel bag. I was going to be prepared I thought to myself as I began chucking clothes of all sorts into the bag. At the very least, someone might benefit from my stuff when I get caught by the hungry undead. At that thought I smiled bitterly to myself, I knew that this was the end for me. I lived in a big suburban neighborhood, eight minutes drive from the city center, the car available to me was a little Honda civic, that the closed up in the garage, I owned no guns, swords, not even a knife bigger then a bread knife. I had no experience in hand to hand combat (grade 5 Judo lessons not withstanding), I was neither significantly tall or strong, or that I knew, had a calm and level head in a crisis. All in all I was very much screwed I figured. But hell if that would stop me from getting a good time out of the remaining life I did possess! I tossed in my camping flashlight, and squashed in some toiletries My eyes searched my room, evidence of everything I cared for, and who I was stared back at me. Framed photo's smiled, almost mockingly, the ruminants of an old life already disappearing under a growing crimson tide. On a impulse, a strong desire took hold of me, to not fully abandon my old life so quickly. So, I grabbed a smaller duffel bag a placed photo-albums, books, notes, pictures, and a few other choice objects into it, adding my lap top and battery pack on a whim, thinking I might be able to barter it later, money I am sure probably would mean nothing in this new world...no that I had anything substantial in that department anyway.

Lugging the bags to the stairs, I filled shopping bags with perishable, and non perishable food items. As I raided my own kitchen shelves, I hunkered down as much as possible from the blind-less kitchen window. The dog stuck close by, watching my antics as I filled the bags at top speed. A low whine from her brought my hand to reach for the box of dog bones and her dog food, which also went into the bag. Once I had filled 4 bags with various food-stuffs I returned to the landing, placing the bags with the duffel bags. Then, as I was able to go downstairs, realized I was still dressing in my fuzzy pink sponge bob pajamas, and housecoat. Rolling my eyes, I made my way to my room and quickly changed, choosing comfortable jeans, a t-shirt and a zip-up sweater. I gave myself a once over in the mirror. Not bad I thought, not bad at all for the day of a Zombie apocalypse.

Snagging my mothers car keys from their hanger in the kitchen I placed them in my pocket and took off the small, thin backpack I had been wearing on my back. Inside were my driving glasses, and now I needed to have some sort of a weapon. Awkwardly I pulled out the kitchen knives choosing all the long ones, and delicately placing them in the backpack. I am going to end up stabbing myself and saving the zombies the trouble of doing away with me I thought. Suddenly, I realized I was ready to go, I was actually going to do this, there was nothing else was here for me to take and make use of. You have no idea how hugely tempted I was to stay. My home felt like such a safe haven, but as I looked through the living room blind, and seeing the broken windows that bled red down their sills, and the spintered, hanging doors on the houses in my neighborhood, I realized that no place was safe anymore, least of all in a residential area. In several trips I had ferried down all the bags to the garage door. Pausing often to grab blankets, a sleeping bag, jackets and winter clothing. Finally, going back upstairs I grabbed my dog, Tia and put on her leash. I wasn't going to let her die here, whether by starvation, or possibly a discriminating zombie's palate. She was possibly my last surviving family member,and hell if I was going to lose another one.

Cautiously I opened up the garage door. It was unlikely that they had already forced their way in, but I was taking no chances. Flipping on the light switch, I lurked in the door way, the bread knife in my palm, until I made sure the garage was clear. Then, as quickly and quietly as possible I began to load the trunk and back seats with all my goods and luggage. I unceremoniously dumped the dog in the passenger seat, and closed both the trunk the passenger door as quickly as possible. But to my chagrin they both made a much more audible sound then I would have liked. Frozen in the act of heading to my own seat, I heard the sound of slapping feet on the concrete. A lump rose in my throat. Was it my imagination or were they coming this way? I didn't have to wait very long for my answer... A blood-curdling howl sounded outside, just as the first of the undead, slammed against garage door. The door shook and rattled, compounding with multiple bodies impacting it's solid surface, as well as the steady beat of the dead ones, pounding to get inside. Get at me. I got inside the car, slamming the door. This seemed to reil them up into even more of a frenzy, frothy moans, and gurgling howls emanated through the frighteningly thin door.

Through gaps in the door, coming through to the windshield, thin slants of winter sunshine danced across my face. I sighed, closing my eyes to enjoy what could quite possibly be the last moment of my natural life, I revved up the engine, and reached for the garage remote opener... Just go! I said aloud. And punched the button, murmuring as I did, a silent prayer, what I said escaped me now, but I remember, for the first time in my life, it was truly heart-felt, and meaningful. A plead born from desperation, faith, and fear. It was time.


	4. Chapter 4

**Authors note:** Firstly I want to thank all of my readers! You guys are amazing. I did a happy dance tonight when I sat down at my computer and saw my 4th review! Thanks to those who have reviewed me so far: Special thanks to you three: Redwallanderson, Arianin, and

IamNotGivingMyNameToAMachine! You have made this tiny inspiration more then I thought it was going to be! Now I have currently decided to continue on with it! As always, **please review me**, I enjoy the praise, suggestions, as well as any constructive criticism you can provide as I am always looking to improve. On another note: I am quite pleased as too where this story is going, and how it has progressed so far. Fear not, there is more to come! -Regards

Looking back on it now, the thought of me, freshly twenty years old, decked out in my puffy brand-name finery, sweating buckets, and preparing to race out of my garage into the dieing daylight, to escape the bloodthirsty, in only a little Honda civic brings tears of laughter and disbelief to my eyes. Like I said, how I made it through those early days is a mystery to me.

Nowadays my clothes are five days dirty, and usually unsalvageable, so encrusted with blood and grime. Basically I get only what I have time to scrounge from the bins, or more often my treasures that I pick up on raids. We call them trips to the 'Old World' and it is a true fact, in just a few short years the world has gone and changed on us, all of us that are left I should say. But Thor is always on the look for me. 'Something sweet for the sweet one.' He always rumbles when he presents me with the latest of his triumphs. God, I don't know what I'd do without that man.

Well, I think I am getting ahead of myself here, that is not something to be discussed now, it comes later. Hmmmm, oh now...where was I? ...OH! Thats right, zombies, house, grand escape, big drama. Only I can get away with mocking myself because I make fun of my position so often I think of my old life as something akin to a dramatic comedy...especially in those first days. Anyway, on with my saga!

The moment I pushed open the garage door I felt that dieing inside my own home would have been the better option then facing hell, head on. Sunlight streamed in as inch by inch the facade of safety dissipated, replaced by the bow-legged, unruly feet, then calves, then entire legs of the ragged bloodthirsty undead. Some were bare legged, still wet blood trickled down from unseen traumas, or from red pits, were skin used to be. Still others sported virtually untouched limbs, clothing covering the demon, covering them all too well...Quickly, all too much was visible. I will take a minute to explain this sight to you, so you might better understand my horror. Over twelve of these creatures grouped at the door on the entrance, ans still more were rapidly pumping towards the slowly opening door. Maws gaping, issuing such terrible moans they pressed inwards. The sound rendered me frozen in my seat. Looking out, I saw their eyes, they seemed unfocused and glazed, as though they functioned on smell and hearing perceptions alone.

They were beyond horrible. My nightmares personified to life, and beating on the skimpy barriers, desperate for my flesh, their feast, to sooth their starvation. 'Nonononono' I remember mouthing in a silent chant, looking straight before me, my eyes unseeing, unfocused from my current plight.

Men, women, children, old, middle aged, and youth, whole and unwhole. All dead, and all hungry.

A sharp crack shook me back to life, the resounding echo was unfamiliar to my ears. Another crack followed soon after. Some of the zombies hesitated, their seemingly unseeing eyes swiveled towards the noise. My own eyes followed. A figure was visible, standing precariously upon a roof-top at the end of the street. There was a pause, and then another crack, and then a zombie, part of a large group milling underneath what I am assuming was the person's home, dropped to the ground. But I wasn't hugely surprised when it wriggled back to it's feet, only to drop back again when hit with a well-placed head-shot. Seeing the opening I needed I started out the garage hesitantly. The zombies immediately turned their attention back on me, and swarmed the car. I heard a crack as the back window began to give into the exulting fists of the undead. I screwed my eyes shut and hit the gas! Bouncing around like a rapper car in a music video I barreled out the garage, running over zombie after zombie. Crunching, crackling, and popping noises were my music, accompanied by the frenzied beating of my thumping heart. Skidding on the freshly fallen, bloodstained snow, I sped down the road. Zombies pumping in my wake, I swerved the oncoming zombies with jerks of the wheel, causing the car to skid even more as I drove. As I passed the house with the rooftop gunner, I honked my horn, a sort of communication from one survivor to another, and funnily enough, he threw a salute in my direction and a wordless shout. I am not sure what is was to this day, but I like to think of it as being a shout of triumph for me, that at least one person escaped.

As I drove away, zombies trailing a queer sort of parade, one question was prevalent in my mind...Now what?!


	5. Chapter 5

You have no idea of my uncertainty now that I was out on my way...On my what to fucking what?!?! 'What now? What now? Shit, shit shit' became the resounding chant that played like bongo drums in my brain, making me deaf to almost everything else. My eyes nervously flicked up to the mirror, then back to the road in a twitching tempo. Up-down, up-down, mirror to the road, mirror to the road.

I had picked up quite the crowd in my all fired dash from the neighborhood. They followed, shambling and stumbling coming fast in my wake, like demented dancers. Maybe enough had followed that the roof-top gunner might be able to pick off the remainder and try his luck in the zombie gauntlet. I hoped so.

A loud bang on the mental hood of the trunk caused me to utter a frightened shriek. A single zombie was matching my car's 50km! It appeared to have once been a jogger, light blue jogging pants were morosely decorated in streamers of reddish-brown dried blood. Howling loudly, his surprisingly pristine, and untouched face was twisted in such an expression it chilled me, causing my warm sweater to turn clammy and cold against my skin. Another meaty thunk resounded from the back. His legs were pumping in a fashion that expressed his utmost desire to reach me. His two arms raised in front of him, straining to once again get close enough to reach the car's trunk, he seemed obviously to the fact that his arms ended in ragged, shredded stumps, his hands eerily missing. Only a few limp blood-soaked shreds of skin dangled from his arms, swaying in the gap. This might sound like a weird reaction to have in a situation the was surging with surmounting horror, terror, and adrenaline, but I clearly remember saying: "Eeeewwwwwwwww!" ...Well it was gross at any rate. Meanwhile, the dog was going ballistic in the back seat, snarling at the fucking marathon-zombie runner, who was just slightly out of reach of banging on the back-hood again.

I pressed down on the gas petal and jumped forward, looking in the mirror as the zombie was left behind, waving his arms and howling madly, his undead companions following close behind. The ice on the road caused me to pay more attention to the roads, I was going faster then a I felt comfortable in said conditions, but I had to, in order to outrun my trailing zombie parade. The road conditions were terrible, which wasn't surprising, I doubted the Snow Plowing staff felt like doing a public service on the day of a zombie Apocalypse...if they weren't already one of them that is.

Suddenly, a cheerful upbeat melody pierced the surprisingly silent car. It took me a few long seconds to realize it was my cell phone ringing. "Stop in the name of love" blasted from inside the thin lining of the backpack on the floor beside me. Leaning down I frantically unzipped the bag and tore off cover with my teeth (as my hands were otherwise engaged), and flipped open the phone, cutting off the song in mid sentence.

"Hello?! Hello?!" I almost yelled in my relief and growing apprehension. "Oh my god, oh my god, oh god..I though..i thought, oh my god. Thank god!" Came a hysterical voice, crackling with a mixture of static and terror. But no matter how much changed, my heart lept with unsurmountable joy. I was not alone.

"Rachel! Oh my god! I thought I was alone too. I thought I might be the only one left out here!" I babbled, the relief at the sound of another familiar human voice in those first few days tended to give my tongue wings and my words energizer bunny speed. Her voice swiftly cut through my babble. "What is going on!?" There are bloody people running down the road, some are attacking people. The radio says to stay inside, some sort of riot or disease! Sounds like ...sounds like ..." "Zombies." I supplied. "Shit!" was her single reply. "Yeah" I agreed. "I woke up this morning ..." and I accounted my whole story to her. When I finished only the sound of her breathing, loud and slightly harsh to my ears could be heard. "What should I do?" Came her only reply.

"Fuck, I don't know Rach. Lock all your doors and close your blinds hun. Stick something heavy against your front door, that one is flimsy. Whatever you do, don't make alotta noise or let 'em see you!" My mind raced as I imparted my only thinkable wisdom. I had no idea what to do for her. Rachel lived farther out of town in a rather secluded area, from what she was saying, there weren't many out there yet. Maybe I could gather some people and head for her. She might know a place in the mountains. Maybe...could I be that lucky? Could I even make it there? Could she hold out for that long? Questions raced through my mind, with no answers coming forth. She broke through my slightly panicked thoughts, with a simple request, haltingly emitted from her throat, edging with panic and hope. "Will you come get me?"


	6. Chapter 6

I let the silence on the phone grow, rapidly approaching a pinnacle of uncomfortable silence. I could hear her breathing on the other end, I even thought I could discern the now familiar sound of that accursed bloodcurdling howl. But, as I reflect back, I was probably imagining it like the so many other sleepless nights before it, listening intently for a sound, a noise or a shuffle. It is a wonder I didn't go nuts, or maybe I have and no one has noticed...or maybe everyone else is nuts too. Who knows? Man, everything was screwed up, everything is STILL screwed up! Swerving slightly around abandoned car, sitting on the shoulder, its driver-side door thrown wide like an invitation, it's motor, ominously still running. The white puffs of exhaust could be clearly seen in the frosty winter air. I gripped the cell phone tighter, my only life-line to a world not yet as insane as my own, that still had some semblance of hope. Now my readers, you might ponder about my hesitation in answering my dear friend..It was not selfishness nor lack of honor or humanity (for that matter). It was simply this, I wasn't sure if I could get there. As well, I had to know if my family and other friends were still alive, and could be helped. Again, I exclaim over my tremendous luck in those first days, I still cannot get over the odds I faced, yet came out unscathed...well on the outside maybe, the inside is a whole other can of worms.

So, I gave my friend the best possible answer I could. I cleared my throat and replied: "I'll try." I heard her expell her held breath in a rush. "Thanks, I'll be ready and watching for you" she said. "Gather together any nonperishable food, and water. As well as weapons you have, knives or what not, I guess it is too much to hope for that you have a gun? Hm?" I questioned. "That's a no" She replied. I told her I'd call her back and hung up, closing the cell with a resounding snap. I look over at the dog, who was looking at me with an interested expression, her head cocked to one side. I remember grinning and saying: "Hold on to you butt sweetie, cause we are going to town!" ...Man. I am such a NERD!

As I drove along the winding, slightly forested road that led to town from my neighborhood the signs of destruction and wild mayhem were growingly apparent. I could hear screams, shouts, and cries emitting from what I figured was human mouths, as they realized their unhappy fate. Then the howling and moaning gradually drowned out their desperate screams. This rising chorus spurred me on and I raced down the road, tires slightly slipping on the slick pavement.

As I rolled through the more thickly populated urban neighborhoods I realized how small my little version of hell had been! "SHIT!" I screeched. So many houses and cars were aflame the sky leeched darkness, obscuring the weak winter sun. It was like a cartoon strip gone horribly wrong: flames, bangs, thuds, falling anvils (Okay that was a stretch! Ha, just wondering if you were still awake!), and explosions echoed in the air as the occasional gas tank caught flame. Some cars could be seen, still with (presumably) live occupants lurching crazily, zig-zagging the roads, around the hordes of undead, and the various plentiful objects that littered the streets and lawns of the subdivisions. It looked like a tornado had ripped through this place, it was insane! In passing another street that led to a bowl shaped subdivision, a car revved as it started up, a panicked man in the drivers seat swatted at the growing horde of zombies that were crushing around the vehicle with a long stick through the shattered drivers side window. A women ran out of the house, lugging a large suitcase and made a dash for the car. Idiot woman... In seconds she was brought down by the group of zombies, just meters from the car, her male companion could only watch as she dissapeared under a squirming knot of death, screaming in horror, and unimaginable pain as she was ripped apart. Her friend, struck dumb by this horror was easily plucked through the shattered window by a group of zombies who could fit in the struggling mass above the woman, like a particularly delicious looking grape. Seconds later he was no more.

I closed my eyes briefly, how was I even going to make it out of here alive!! I was going to be dead, dead, dead, dead.. DEAD!..or at least, deadish. Either way, the outcome was totally undesirable. I looked up and let out a string of curses. Zombies were approaching at every imaginable side. They streamed out of houses, cars, side streets, from behind me and in front of me. Oh boy. I was FUCKED. 'This is soooooo not good." I whispered, and stomped down on the gas.


	7. Chapter 7

**Authors note:** Thanks again to all my wonderful reviewers. Hopefully, from now on (no promises though) I am going try to make the chapters I write longer! I noticed that they have been pretty puny at some points. Here is the next chapter, the others will follow asap. Please read and review! Thanks! - Regards.

As I recall this specific event, I do so with a chuckle of delight as it worked out so nicely. Personally I thought I was a goner. With zombies rushing towards me, closing in from all sides... But, instead of meeting a gory painful end, I escaped, with a certain flare of distinguished style!

So, like I was saying, zombies were crushing towards me from every imaginable side. So, at a loss of what else to do, I stepped down on the gas. What happened next was either a well disguised miracle, or pure luck. In stomping down on the gas, accelerating from around 50km to 90km, coupled with that momentum, speed, and icy road conditions sent me spinning out of control, the car sped around in huge circles up the road. I felt too many thuds to count as the undead hit the car in droves, only to be flung away again, or crunched under the car as I plowed around and around the slick pavement.

On a regular day I am sure I looked hilarious, but as you know, if you are reading this, it was not a regular day. I could only clutch the steering wheel, hanging on for dear life as the world went whizzing by. A hulking shape loomed in front of me, and seconds later a particularly large zombie hit the front of the car smacking face first, into the windshield. The already cracked windshield shattered under the strain of his immense weight, and glass showered down on me, I felt searing burns pepper my face and neck. Still spinning about the road, I opened my eyes (which had been tightly closed during my impromptu glass shower) and screamed in horror. The huge male zombie had stayed on the hood, fingers tightly clenching the edges of the glassless windshield. His face was beyond terrible. His throat torn open to the neck, and chunks missing at random about his face. He shook himself like a dog, and his pale, milky eyes focused on me. His legs scrambled on the slick hood as he attempted to propel himself towards me. As it was I could smell his fetid, rotting stench, and even in my shocked horror, I gagged slightly. His blood-flaked hand closed abruptly on my own small wrist. Brown blood meeting a pale tan, clashing together in a shocking mixture. Clammy and cold, warm and alive. Just as I was about to wrench my hand out of his vice-like grip (no matter the outcome), one of his hungry fellows , sent airborne by the spinning vehicle smacked into my attacker and sent them both flying off the hood, limbs flailing, bug-like, my hand slipping neatly from his grasp.

Hours later, or so it felt to me, the car slowed to a stop, thumping lightly into a light post. Slightly stunned I stared straight ahead, knuckles white on the wheel. But I had little time to ponder this crazy event as a crescendo of howls sounded behind me. Quite akin to the baying of hunting dogs when prey has been scented. Taking that as my cue to leave, I stepped on the gas again, sliding only slightly as I took off up the road. In my mirror, zombies followed picking themselves up off the pavement with frustrated screeches, but some never stirred and lay were they had been felled, splayed across the cold frosty pavement.

I turned around corner after corner, block after block, winding my way closer to the city center. The farther I went, the worse the chaos. Finally I turned the corner and slowed to a hesitant stop to view the Tim Horten's across the street, where my sister worked. Tears now flowed freely down my cheeks, mixing with the blood that stained my face. The dripping tears winded swirling trails down my cheeks, revealing pale skin. Flames billowed from the back of the building, and a huge knot of flailing undead crushed around the building's entrance. My sister was beyond my reach and surely dead, why had it come to this?! As if they sensed my frantic thoughts, the shattering of glass echoed and a shrill horror-filled scream sounded, only to be abruptly cut off, the howls and moans of the undead was the only sound that could be heard after that.

"Damn, Damn, Damn." I whispered. "No, Karen, God Dammit!" And I beat my grimy fists on the steering wheel, sobbing in grief. "Dammit...no..."


	8. Chapter 8

**Authors note:** Haha, well the last chapter I posted really wasn't long either. So much for that! HA! But I am posting this next chapter quite fast so be content! - Regards

Looking around me I found I was relatively safe, only a few stumbling figures were nearby, wandering aimlessly, having not noticed that flesh was nearby. I took the opportunity to call my sister's cell , on the slim hope that was left to me. Only the sound of her cheerful answering service greeted me. I left a quick sob-choked message and hung up.

After this I have to honestly say I slightly zoned out from myself and my position. I remember swerving away from the occasional walking corpse. But it was as though I was detached from myself. So it wasn't surprising that when my mind focused again, I found myself in an unfamiliar part of town. On both sides the street was rowed with white apartment buildings, reaching high in the sky. The road was eerily empty and silent. This unnerved me the most as I recall. No moans, screams, howling, cries, cars, explosions or noise of any kind. Only the smokey gray vapors of smoke indicated to the horrors that was visiting of small city. I slowly drove down the street, and looked hesitantly about me, tears still coursing down my face.

The sound of caws and rustling feathers alerted me. I looked to the side. Beady eyes and stick feet twitched over to mark my presence, then flicked back to the object of their interest. I was of no concern to them...yet.

I had been so focused on earthly concerns, I was was surprised my neck didn't protest with irritated cracks and pops at the new movement. Nowadays I have learned to listen to the language of my body. It speaks to me, through thumps, cracks, and gushes. I even see pictures in my bruises, their hues, the colors. My skin, the grim canvas. But I suppose I digress.

All I saw was the gore birds. The Crows and Ravens. They rowed the window sills on the opposing wall. Their heads cocked in unison, a black eye upon an unseen presence. Wary, my head turned to the opposing wall. Immediately a feeling came over me, telling me I did not belong in this place, I was a fumbling barbarian intruder. I had no business to disturb her breathless slumber. There was a woman on a string, a graceful broken puppet. She provides to me an image that will stay forever with me. She hung from a window sill, yellowing camping rope corded around her neck. Her head hung down slightly. Even the curly curtain of thin blond hair that shadowed her face could not obscure the small terrible smile that still played on her lips. The birds stood, rustling silent sentinels, surveyors of her sad triumph.

She was not that long gone from this world, the black shadows and foul perfume that rails behind death had yet to ruin her perfection. About two meters from the ground she hung, swishing slightly with the wind, her stark white draw-string pants rippled smoothly down to her bare feet, unadorned but for a mirror polish that sparkled silently in the dawn rays. My eyes were drawn up her body, her white long sleeve shirt, just as pristine, untouched and pure to my tainted eyes. Past her triumphant, but sad smile I learned the full measure of her victory. She had cheated them. A martyr of her time, she had fought, held out, and survived alone, but knew her battle was lost. So, she had waited, and when the devils-touched had broken down and invaded her silent sanctuary, she had taken a leap of faith, so to speak. The birds were even stilled, having yet to feast on her flesh, I think, to pay a rustling tribute to her before natures takes it's grim, but cleansing course.

As I write this, I bow my head in remembrance. I found this memory hard to write. My bravo and survivalist hardened heart abandons me whenever her image flutters into m brain. But now I believe I have done this martyr of sorts justice. Her strange triumph makes so much sense to my changed soul.

A howl and excited screech brought me out of my awe. A male zombie bashed his fists on the sliding glass door of the neighboring apartment. Bloody smears polka-dotted the glass. In his frantic frenzy the thin glass began to give way under his assault, crunching and shattering he burst out, blood still streaming, he was a fresh one. As he pushed through the glass his skin tore and shredded, ripping at his arms and torso.

His body hit the deck railing, flailing against the sudden boundary. His arms windmilled as he attempted to propel himself towards me. Drool strands flecked with red-tinged blood hung from his jowls, periodically splattering on my already blood encrusted hood. The fucker wasn't even smart enough to clamber up over the deck and fall to the ground to get at me.

Laughing hollowly, and with more then a little spite, I pushed down on the gas petal, and took off down the street, away from the apartment complex.


	9. Chapter 9

**Authors Note:** Wow! I am on a roll in the last few days here. Two chapters up in the last night alone. Lets just say I got inspired. Read and Review asap please, I am curious to know what people thought of Chapter 8. I am going try and pick up the action from here on in, the story needs to start going somewhere. Therefore, this is going in a good transitional chapter, so bare with me. I hope you guys enjoy this! -Regards.

I breathed in and out shakily. I had to get out, I had to keep moving. Dwelling on my surmounting sense of loss would only end in me dieing... most probably in some horrific way. A cold nose snuffling at the side of my arm gave me a momentary thrill of horror, but it was only the dog nuzzling her way under my right arm, whimpering slightly. Like any sensible dog she had been hunkering down on the floor behind my seat, safe from the flying glass. Smart girl. I cuddled with her as best I could with one arm, and she sneaked in a quick doggy kiss, making me smile slightly. It made me feel better to know I wasn't entirely alone in this new and terrifying world. One that I was not at all ready to face.

I drove down the less traveled roads of my small city. Flipped open my cell and dialed my boyfriends house, getting no answer I tried the cell as well, but had the same result. Shit.

Bitting my lip I made an abrupt U-turn and swung down a road that would eventually lead me to Richard's home. Murmuring a silent prayer I drove down the refreshingly empty road. Minutes later his street came into view. Signs of violence were strewn about the road. His neighbors house was splattered with blood, which almost fully covered the bottom half of the front door. Smeared red hand prints decorated the nearby sliding. A blue bicycle lay strewn on the end of a driveway, the back wheel still slowly turning, a small bloody smear was just visible on the ground beside it. I shivered.

But strangely the street was empty and silent, only the sound of crackling flames could be heard, emitting from a small dying blaze inside a crashed truck that was wrapped around a telephone pole at the end of the street. This did not look good.

It was as though, like waves rippling across the sea, a pulsing horror-filled wave of the undead had hit this street, and then moved on just as quickly, a rolling wave of death. I slowed, turning into the drive, crunched through the icy snow, so loudly resounding under the weight of my tires, I cringed at the sound. Stopping, I looked at the house, nothing was out of the ordinary, except for the garage door gaping open. No blood defiled their home that I could see. But there was also no sounds, and no cars. The family's small old car and new truck were gone, as well as Richards small red car. I hoped to god they had gotten out alive. But I had to know, I had to at least check to see if they might be alive. I needed to know, whatever the answer. Reaching into the small backpack at my feet I quickly grabbed the largest knife, a butcher knife. The slight nick in the middle of the blade sent me on a short trip back in time to seven years ago when my Dad was attempting to cut a coconut in half, and the comic look on his fact as the coconut came out unscathed, while the knife was wounded in action. I sighed at the happy memory and palmed the monstrous thing in my left hand. Taking a deep breath, I opened the door, leaving the motor running, and stepped outside.

I must mention, I am, or was, I wimp at heart. I even disliked being alone in my room in the dark. Yeah yeah, I was wuss, lets embrace the fact and move on already. Sheesh! So, as such, getting out of the car into a world where being scared of the dark was the least of my problems was quite a big step for me.

I remember my heart pounding so hard it ached in my chest and echoed in my ears. Sweat poured down my face, mixing with the partially dried blood as I cautiously made my careful, quiet way to the front door, knife raised, with my right hand down for balance. A loud whimper from the car made me jump, slightly annoyed, I shushed the dog and told her to stay. I swear I heard a grumbling growl in response, the little bugger.

To make a long story short, I crept up to the door, the street still devoid of any signs of life. But my heart sank as I approached the front landing, the door was pock-marked with blood smears, some meaningless smudges, others crude hand prints. Interestingly I could see, upon closer examination that there was a clear red print enclosing the door knob, as though someone had tried the knob to see if it was open. I slowly turned the door knob my own bloody print mixing with the first. Leaving the door slightly open, raising the knife, ready to attack at the slightest sound. Friends, I have to honestly say, I was scared shitless.

After a few terrifying moments of waiting, nothing flew out at me from the door, and I could hear nothing moving inside. So, I gathered what was left of my frayed nerve and let the door swing open fully.

The black and white striped rug was stained to a shocking red, it pooled from the rug, little streams trailed down the hall before me, not yet dried on the sparkling wood floor boards. Bloody bare foot prints adorned the floor, going away from the door. The fuckers had be here! "Oh god, Oh god" I thought. Advancing slowly I saw the occasional blood smear across the white walls, at one point it looked as though the intruder has paused and slipped down the wall to rest on the floor. Maybe they had let in someone injured? It was a slim hope, but it made sense. I slipped into the kitchen, still nothing. Only the phone hung from the cord, the tip resting on the floor, beeping audibly. The remains of lunch had bubbled over on the stove, creating a burnt sticky mess on the elements, I switched off the elements quickly, out of habit I suppose. I opened the medicine cupboard and pockets a few bottles of Advil's, something we didn't have stored in out house.

Moving on, to the upstairs bedrooms I listened at the doors, no sounds emitted from them, so I swung them open quickly. My heart jumping to my throat every time a shadow was uncovered.

A long loud moan permeated the house, echoing loudly in the enclosed space in which it was trapped. My blood chilled and I swear, for five seconds my heart stopped beating. It moaned again, frustrated and forlorn. And coming from the battered, bloody door just in front of me ...


	10. Chapter 10

Hmm, well it appears that my autobiographical type story is attracting the attention of the Family. By that I mean us in the Sanctuary. Damn Thor, the big loaf can't help but gossip. Hell! I am a girl and he gossips worse then me. I even had to set Kirren straight, I ain't gone soft in the head, well not any more then I was already I suppose. The bastard (I say this with affection) is just worried I'll start wimping out on raids and such. Nah, I can't stop really, I have found I start to long for the rush, the thrill when we are couped up too long. Crazy how much I have adapted and changed in so short a time. But I really don't want anyone to read it as it might ruin my truff in' tough facade. Ha. The only reason Thor knows about it is last week I was working on it, and he sneaked up on me and began reading over my shoulder, unbeknownst to me, until, laughing he mimicked my voice in a choice line he had chosen. His booming voice crackling as he attempted to turn it into a shrill pitch. Annoyed I told the buffoon to bugger off. Of course this only egged him on to quite further heights of annoyance. In the end he had me hopping about the room trying to grasp the wad of papers (of which were the small beginnings of what you are engaged in now). He held them just out of my reach. It was futile, his immense height and bulk rendered any attempt to get my papers back impossible, but I was infuriated. Finally I managed to catch him by surprise ( which is a rare event I must mention) with a quick chop, a firm wrist movement to the back of the knee, he crumbled, my papers flew comically through the air, to flutter crazily down to the floor in loose clumps. But Thor really wasn't one to go down lightly, so he took me down with him and a one-sided wrestling match ensued. Conscious of his huge advantage, he let me try his defenses. Finally I bright out my ultimate weapon, tickling.

For a huge, burly macho man, Thor was one of the most ticklish people I knew. Soon he was squirming on the floor, his loud braying laughter echoing in the enclosed space. My assault was abruptly interpreted when his massive meaty body-length leg, caught in an involuntary tickle-induced spasm glanced against my side sending me slightly airborne, to land neatly on my low lying bed. In conclusion we both laughed till be felt sick, and until Marty smacked on his neighboring room wall for us to shut-up. We broke down then into a semi-silent fit of giggles. 

Therefore, he is the only one who has been allowed the 'privilege' (I say with much sarcasm) of perusing my private document (or sorts).

At this moment Thor is looking over my shoulder telling me to get my ass moving and get to the part when he appears. So therefore this digression is coming to a hopefully, nicely finished conclusion. Right about ...now. Okay.

Hm, so where was I? Right! Blood, hallway, zombie in bathroom, etcetera. To make a long story a short one, this was the site of my first kill.


	11. Chapter 11

Friends have to tell you I was so scared I was shaking. Why didn't I just leave it you ask? Well, crazy as it sounds I needed to know if it was him, (Richard, I mean). I couldn't just leave knowing he might be in there, even as one of 'them', I had to know. As I approached I heard rustling noises, no angry screeching or horrible blood chilling moans. My heart leapt slightly, maybe someone was alive and still here! In fact, the closer I got the more normal the noises sounded. Elated, but still hesitant I moved to stand in front of the door. Still nothing. So, I wet my lips and said softly... "Whose there?"

What followed was something akin to an eruption. Albite it a zombie eruption. Upon hearing my quavering voice the zombie hurled itself against the already battered door, which with one push broke open completely, causing the zombie to go airborne, erupting from the door to smack into me out of a shower of bloody white door splinters.

I stumbled, rebounding off the wall. Attempting to both keep my balance and back-pedal away from the creature.. With inhuman speed the hell-bitch was already on her feet, screeching in victorious triumph, mouth open wide with ropy saliva dribbling down her blood soaked cloud-printed jammies. Her red hair swung around her face, so matted down on her head that the fiery color made it look as though her head was leeching the remains of her depleted lifeblood. She advanced quickly, my heart was beating so hard it almost drowned out her gleeful moans.

As quick as a Walmart greeter in perusing a missed customer, she launched herself in the air, colliding with me and bringing us both to the floor, with her on top grappling for a bite even before we hit the cold hardwood. Terror spiked through my veins. So this is how it ends for me I thought bitterly.

I was holding her wrists, keeping her hands and teeth at bay. Her mouth was snapping open each time she thrashed down on me, trying to lower herself enough so her jaws, blood flecked and terrible could reach the succulent pale flesh of my neck. Her weight, preservation, and the pull of gravity was straining on my arms, and inch by inch, millimeter by agonizing millimeter her teeth's target got closer to their goal. Her putrid breath made me want to puke, even her breathe smelt like death. We were sporadically being pushed about the floor by her desperately scrabbling legs, attempting to propel herself into me.

A sharp prick in my side made me gasp in pain. Her snapping maw inching down closer due to my distraction. The knife! Forgotten and dropped when the zombie had tackled me to the ground. But I had a delima indeed. My arms were occupied and they weren't going to last long against her viperous blood-thirsty assault. Shit!

I made a split second decision and using my legs vaulted her off my form, and lightening quick I swiped up the mammoth knife and threw myself desperately at her stumbling form, knife raised and howling a wordless yell, born of terror, horror, and the supreme desperation of someone with nothing to lose.

I am sure it looked pretty impressive...or possibly retarded, maybe even a mix. Either way it worked astonishing well. My body connected bruisingly with the bitch, and my upraised knife slide into her right eye socket. Jarringly I felt slight only a resistance as it hit the bone...then only soft matter. My momentum took me downwards, knife sliding in up to the hilt. Abruptly her spider-like movements ceased and her body went limp under my own.

I felt no battle lust or anything remotely similar. Only thankfulness. 'Enemy neutralized' as I might say now. I think I picked that up from Bill, he was retired army. God rest his soul.. Shaking hard I picked myself up from her body. My clothes, hair, face and hands right up to the elbows were literally covered in gore. It looked as though I had partially bathed in the stuff. Spitting out something I hoped wasn't the fuckers blood, I stood and retrieved my knife from her eye socket, it made a sick sucking noise like a plunger working a toilet as I pulled it out. I barely made it the few steps to the kitchen sink before I threw up, retching loudly. As soon as my stomach was gone purging itself of what felt like everything I have ever eaten in my life, I slowly grasped a hand-towel, wiping the blood from my face. I drank straight from tap to rid myself of the bitter acidic aftertaste I so hated after being sick. I walked back out to the hall, to survey the motionless corpse. Blood dribbled from her empty eye socket. Slowly the blood welled up, filling up the tiny depression like a lake, small streams dribbling down her face as it overfilled. My stomach rebelled slightly at the site, but I was empty I couldn't be sick even if I wanted to.

I didn't recognize her. She wasn't part of the family. I was relieved. The rest of the house was quickly checked and as I headed to the car, closing the door firmly behind me I was elated that at least they had gotten away from the house okay.

The street was still eerily clean. Tia whined softly, delighted upon my return. I started the car and drove further along the road, thinking: "Okay, Now what?".

For the first time since I started out on this hellish day it occurred to me to turn on the radio. Only static crackled on my cities station. Fiddling with the dial I connected to the next cities station. A scared male voice resonated in the car and I concentrated on the live announcers words as I drove, swerving wrecks the contained trapped undead, pounding a percussion rhythm on the windows of their respective prisons.

"_This is DJ Steve here. And if you haven't noticed the world is officially FUCKED!"_

His voice was desperate and terrified, but still attempting to be humorous, and have some semblance of calm. I admired that.

"_If you are just joining us on this broadcast avoid any contact with the infected at all costs. All the information I have is that it is some sort of disease! I lost contact with my superiors hours ago. So if you have any whiny-ass complaints with my broadcast, good luck reporting it. And so, UP YOURS!"_

I laughed aloud at his comment, as I was just thinking about what would happen on a normal day if his superiors found him broadcasting on the air like he wads. You go DJ Steve!

"_I just got a call from a listener from Vernon I am going to put her on the line now."_

There was a fumbling sound, a curse, some crackling and then a silence broken by the sound of sobbing and harsh breathing.

"_Steve! This is Linda! I heard your number to call in. I am still alive. Me and my husband are in the city center. Everything is messed up, my husband was bitten by one of these maniac's when we dashed to the car. I am driving around and don't know what to do!" _

"_Well Linda, you get your pretty little ass outta the city and ditch your hubby sweetie. The last bit of information I got from the guys upstairs said the disease is transmitted by a bite or scratch. Thats why it is spreading so fast. Get out o-----"_

He was cut off at that point by a renewed bout of sobs from Linda and a low voice, presumably from her husband. Her response was typical, she said she couldn't leave him behind, and that maybe his information was wrong. The phone call was abruptly cut off with a gasp, and Linda rushingly departing saying she couldn't feel a pulse anymore. I doubt she made it. DJ Steve was of the same opinion. But soon he took it in stride and continued with the broadcast.

"_So, this is better then I thought, we do seem to have people still out there and listening, therefore still alive. I haven't seen anyone that looks alive for a bit, the window view overlooking the street is crowded with these fuckers. I am all alone up here, I came early this morning, fucking good luck if you ask me. My house is the shits compared to the relatively protection of this place."_

A long pause ensued. I heard muffled banging sounds.

"_Shit! I am going to have to take a break, in the meantime here is one of Bon Jovi's classics's : "It's my life." Enjoy!"_

Again I had to laugh, half a scared man, half the calm regular radio announcer. The world has indeed changed, but somehow, not so much. The up-beat song came on seconds later. I hummed absentmindedly along. The shattered wind shield was causing light drifts of snow to shift through the jagged glass that remained, peaking out of the rim, like a predators teeth, ready to strike. It was becoming bitterly cold as the afternoon continued marching relentlessly on. I drove further on, closer to the city center, as another two songs played on the air waves, the sense that DJ Steve was having some more pressing problems became increasingly apparent.

As I passed the entrance to yet another honeycomb-like subdivision a minivan came careening out, narrowing missing hitting me. I slowed down and came to a stop, anticipating a meeting. But instead they shot out onto the street, rapidly followed by a loaded pickup truck. I only had time to catch the scared faces pressed against the windows before they whipped by. Rude. Ah well, I understand now, I know what it's like, you just need to go, and you feel you can't stop for anything. But what mostly surprised me was the blood-spotted figure that was half running, half stumbling after the small speeding convoy. They seems to be screaming the name of one of the recently departed people in the vechiles. Already I could see various clusters of undead converging on him, as well as me. There is no peace to be found in the Old World anymore, that is unfortunately still true today.

Seeing me, this poor man made a bee-line towards me. I was struck by pity towards this man, how could they have left him? I remember thinking. Until, that is, that I saw the bloody tears that pock-marked his forearms. They must of found out somehow that bites are the spreaders. His fingers scrabbled in a futile attempt it my drivers side window, and it was pity the caused me to unroll it for him. "They left, They left me!" He babbled crazily, face twisted in pain and loss. "I am sorry." Was all I could say. Blood dripped in steady streams down to his fingers, and off them, gripping down on the sill and into the tan interior as well as my clothing, already gore stained.

In seconds the life seemed to have been drained form him. His fingers loosened, and he fell to the ground, I remained even though in all reality I should have been fleeing, the pursuing undead were almost upon us, roaring and moaning. The man seem obvious to the impending problem, as well as his impending doom. But I felt I couldn't leave him, even in his final moments. He looked up at me, face grey and eye-lids drooping, and uttering only this: "Why?" Then collapsed lifeless on the cold grey stone.

I quickly sped off, thinking: _Why indeed? _Why. Looking back I saw the man being surrounded by the horde. But just as soon they were up again and moving on, after witnessing yet another birth of one of their own brethren. Upon another look, he was up and closing in on the tail-end of the group, howling and stumbling after me.

Why indeed?


	12. Break for Babbling 1

**Authors Note**

I just wanted to take this moment to thank all my wonderful reviewers! 21 reviews and various PM's so far is like a dream I never thought I'd realize. What started as a small little idea turned has turned into a thriving idea that has grown so far to 11 chapters! (With much to come). Your reviews have deffinately spurred me on to want to continue! This all is happening because of your reviews!

Thank you especially for Ghetto Outlaws long and insightful reviews. Your insightful comments and constructive criticism

Thank you also to my personal friends who are reading this (you know who you are) thank you for putting up with my constant chatter about this little world I am creating. Thank you for in some cases consenting to be in my story, putting up with the various horrors I am imparting upon them. Also for simply taking me seriously and genuinely being interested in some degree and reading the chapters, then giving me your real opinions. You guys rock my socks!

I also wanted to take the time to restate and add to my initial disclaimer since I do not re-state it at every chapter beginning.

**Disclaimer:** I do not in any way shape or form own any of the plot, characters, etc. They belong to whoever owns 'em. I just took the general idea for a test jaunt. So, don't sue me...not that it would be beneficial, as I am a poor college student, yadda yadda yadda.

**Other Story Related Issues:** If you want to add my story to your site thats fine, I'd be flattered, but please PM me for permission.

Hmmmm let me know if I am missing anything.

Again, PLEASE READ AND REVIEW ME! I cannot stress enough how much I enjoy a review and comment, as well as the invaluable constructive criticism.

Keep Rocking – Regards

-The Readers Muse-


	13. Chapter 13

"_Howdy non-dead listeners, this is yours truly, DJ Steve! Sorry for the extended absence but I had a slight issue of the zombie nature to attend to. You know, I don't care what the Prime Minister says, this issue is looking more and more like something out of a zombie flick...Hey, laugh not till you see these fuckers up close! Disease may indeed have been the instigator, but these things are messed up! I have Charlie downstairs, apparently I wasn't the only eager beaver this morning. I guess he came in early, only he gotten bitten, then somehow made it to his office. I think I blocked it off alright, but he's putting up quite the racket. It's really not conductive for a working environment."_

I could almost visualize a grin on his face at those words, it sure made me chuckle. Another brush with death and this guy was still oozing cheerfulness and humor. Insane!

"_Anyway the building is still surrounded, looks like I am not going anywhere soon. So...call in to our toll-free number: 1-800-663-784 and share with us your zombie encounters. Also this is the hot line I have set up for people to notify me of safe places to head to, as well as hot-spots of activity to avoid. I am suppose to mention that ----"_

A brief pause followed his cut-off sentence, then a thump and the unmistakable sound of a computer chair being wheeled across the floor. Then...

"_OY! Hey fuck-face!!!! YEAH YOU! Get you rotten mitts of my truck! Hey! I am talking to you you undead freak! Ah! Oh damn! I just got the paint detailed! GO TO HELL! Argh!"_

I remember giggling a little. Insane I know, in all rights I should have been dead, or fainted from the sheer horror of this hellish day. But no, I was ACTUALLY laughing.. while my face felt detached from feeling with the cold, as snow came through the gap where the windshield was suppose to be.

"_Sorry about that gentle listeners, but those freaks were messing with my baby. I can see the red smears from here! Gr. Ok, I am so over this now. Ok, so maybe not! My poor truck! Oh! Hey!... There is a mini van coming down the street! ... HEY HEY stop! Up here! Look up dammit. Shit. I need some bloody smoke signals or something!!"_

What followed was an odd one sided commentary as Steve watched the van ram through the undead crowd. "_Oops!" _and phrases like: _"Oh, well I wouldn't have maneuvered like that!" _were the most common as I recall. Apparently, the mini van in question was attempting to bulldoze through the city center and failing miserably.

"_Finally!" _ I assume he was referring to them somehow making it out of the crowd. Then: _"Oops, I wonder if they know that they have three lives ones attached to their back bumper?"_A pause.._"Hey Assholes in the silver Mini-van that didn't pick me up! You have three tailers!"_

I laughed again, just picturing his indignation at being left behind. I turned the station down a bit when he picked a selection of songs to play while mumbling something about checking on Charlie. I drummed my fingers on the wheel nervously while surveying the roadside. The undead packs were becoming larger and more frequent as I drove on. I thanked all that was good and holy that I had found out about all this and had left early. The clueless and the hesitant were in deep shit now.

Coming around the corner of the next street there was a particularly large huddle of the hell-fiends surrounding a rather strong looking brick house. A nice spread of rose bushes and various other assorted plants painted the homes dark blue ground-trim. The front window was piled with furniture and a hastily makeshift cover of wooden boards to protect the thin glass. I could even discern the sound of a hammer at work, hammering away over the sound of the zombies frustrated moans. Seconds later, much to my amazement a curly grey permed head of hair emerged, followed by a set of angry eyes that peeped over the top of the make-shift barrier.

"Herb! Herb! They are still here!" Came her piping voice. "I know mother! Get away from that window!" Came a frustrated male voice in reply, repeatedly punctuated by loud hammering. "But HERBIE! They are trampling my roses!!" She said indignantly. Though it seems the feisty woman had decided to take matters into her own hands, and sure enough, seconds later a stainless steel cane emerged and poked out at the crowd fiercely. "Get back you crazies!" She shrieked. Soon enough a zombie reached up and plucked the waving cane from her grip. She was not impressed to say the least.

I honked my horn, yelling out at the dead crowd. The dog joined in, her gruff growl-like barks adding to the conversation. The horde turned, almost as one and set off down the sloping lawn towards me. Before I sped off down the road, the spunky old biddy poked her head up again and called out cheerfully: "Thanks young lady!" "No problem!" I responded and pressed down on the gas.

And so, for the second time in one day, an eerie, and even bigger zombie parade ran after me, trailing in the cars wake, legs pumping and arms out stretched.


	14. Chapter 14

Darkness was rapidly falling on my city, but unfortunately this only worsened my predicament. DJ Steve had listed several safe points only to retract them minutes to hours later as they were overrun and lost. Depression and a certain sense of hopelessness was enveloping me as the distant hills swallowed the slowly sinking sun. Not only that but my gas tank was over half empty, therefore I had a problem, or would have one soon enough. Plumes of thick oily smoke still obscured the sky, a dirty red haze in the wake of the setting sun. I could clearly hear the hellish sounds of the choas, which had increased since the morning. Howls of the undead, explosions of some sort, crackling of flames, screams and cries of the living, the reeving of vechiles, and the occasional gun shot. A few more loaded cars of survivors passed me. One even took a shot at me, a shotgun, loud and booming, it echoed stangley in my ears. The driver swerved around me, spinning out on the slick pavement, but it glanced harmlessly off the hood. Idiots. Zombies DON'T drive.

I had stopped in the middle of a desolate mall parking lot in order to grab some warmer clothes and a snack or two to sooth my empty stomach. Only to have to race back inside and burn some serious rubber out of that lot. I had neglected to notice one of the stores front windows were smashed. Stupid. This place, according to DJ Steve had previously been one of those safe points I mentioned above. But it turned out to be the first one to be overrun by the hungry undead. Of course he hadn't imparted this knowledge till sometime after I made it away. I roll my eyes at this memory, even today! Anyway, the place was overrun and infected, as such you can imagine the result... I ended up being chased across the lot and out to the street by a massive group of them. They poured out of the place like ants moving through a disturbed nest. Pushing over one another, limbs flailing in their haste to reach the tender morsel on their doorstep. The air was thick with their stench, death, dirt, blood, and evil. As Mike used to say: "They smell like ass!" Ironically DJ Steve put on Meat Loaf's "Bat out of Hell" as I was boot'in it down the street, zombie traffic in tow.

I was startled from my musings of the cocky DJ's song choice, to the booty shaking music of my cheerful ring tone. After a few seconds of heart-pounding fumbling I retrieved my prize, and hands shaking in barely contained excitement I flipped it open and greeted the caller. I have to admit my heart sank a bit as Rachel's horror-filled voice resounded in my ears. But this feeling quickly turned to relief and gratitude, at least there was one person left in my personal world. Shaking myself from my jumbled thoughts I focused on her words...

"Oh God! I am so fucked! Oh god! What do I do! What do I do!" Came her voice, shrill with panic.

"Wait! Wait! Hold up! What wrong Rach!?" I replied loudly.

In the following seconds of silence I could discern muffled thumps, a pause in her harsh, loud breathing. Then nothing. Seconds slid by till I heard it. The dreaded blood-chilling moan of the undead. My heart froze, I felt like an invisible attacker had choked the breath from me.

"Rach?! Rachel! Oh my god..NO...please no...RACHEL!"


	15. Chapter 15

**Authors Note:** Wow. I cannot believe it is chapter 15 already. Seems insane to me that there has been support for this story to keep me writing up the chapters. Though I must admit I am still having a blast writing this. The story is about to start picking up soon. Sorry about the nasty cliff hanger I gave you last chapter... (grins evilly) Just a quick note, I believe it was _Sorceress Entity_ that noticed a mistake in my 13th chapter. In the process of writing the chapter I had put in the name: "Ray Romano" for the director of a zombie movie. Before I posted it up I had gotten rid of the name completely as I felt firstly it was the wrong name, and second, that it was too specific a detail for my character DJ Steve to utter. But weirdly it showed up in the final draft on the site. (shakes fist!) I think I have it fixed now. I am not even going to contemplate the weirdness of the Internet and computers in general! But kudos's to you Sorceress for being so astute, without that review I would have remained blissfully unaware of the problem. And as always, Remember to review me! Pretty please with a zombie shaped cherry on top!? (grins)

I breathed deeply and with a huge sense of relief when her small voice replied to my pleads, a voice all to human, thank god.

"Oh god! I did what you said and blocked the door, but like 2 hours ago my mum came home. She slid into the drive sideways and hit my car! Thumper is totaled!" (I suppose I should mention that "Thumper" is our nickname for her car). I winced in sympathy, she had saved up so hard and long for her car. I gripped the wheel tightly as I jerked the car to avoid hitting a zombie that was suicidally running full tilt at me from the front. I didn't want to risk the chance it would hit the hood and bounce into the car. I could feel the car slipping a bit on the icy road as I twisted the wheel back. In my side mirror I watched as the zombie tried to change directions in mid leap, only to get thrown to the side as a few of the remainders of my depleted zombie fan club rushed past. Leaving the thing to pick itself up from the pavement, howling indignantly. Shaking my head I looked back at the road and then focused on her words and listened.

"Anyway, there were seven of those things chasing her so I got her in before they got here. But, oh god, they..they...When I got her in and her came too she said Sue bit her!" I had no idea who Sue was, butt felt that now might not be the ideal time to inquire. "She sat down at her desk and Sue was under it, she bite mom's leg! I didn't know what to do! Those zombies were at the door, 911 was busy and oh, she looked so sick. She turned! Oh my god, she's one of them! And I couldn't do anything for her! Anything!" And she voice dissolved into heart wrenching sobs, the howl of what I assume to this day was her zombified mother could barely be heard. My heart sank, but I understood her pain. My voice abruptly cut through her fast-paced, slightly hysterical babble.

"Rach! Rachel, where the hell are you?"...There was a quick pause then: "Oh um, in the attic crawl space. She can't reach me, I knocked down the chair I used to get up here!" She replied quickly. "Okay hang tight!" I responded, "I am coming to get you...at some point." "What do you mean? "She asked, sounding worried. I was about to respond when I looked in my rear view mirror and gasped. "Oh Shit! I'll call you back!" I yelled and closed the phone with a sharp snap.

There was a freaking cop car behind me, lights flashing, siren thankfully silent, with an officer motioning me to follow him. I could just barely see a crowd of the undead in the distance behind him. Still to this day I remember unconsciously checking my speed, I STILL get a laugh from that memory. The police car led me ten minutes down the road, then up a empty through an empty wooded road and down to the outskirts of the industrial park, me trailing behind becoming increasingly mystified. Finally he pulled off the road into the parking lot of an closed down Cabinet marking factory, the name of the company escapes me now but it didn't stay in business long. The industrial center was amazingly empty. I could not one sign of the horror that this day had brought on my city. My heart surged, this was safe, for now at least. And I felt protected, there was an officer of the law here to protect me. I sighed deeply and took a calm shuddering breath and slumpt my forehead on the wheel. So numb was my face that the wheels frigid temperature didn't even register on my equally cold brow.

At the crunching sounds of his boots against the freshly fallen snow I looked up wearily. My head felt so heavy and my stomach churned. There wasn't supposed to be two police cars were there? I grunted and shook my head slightly and the two cars merged into one again. Oh no I thought. Gulping hard I looked up again, and was greeted by the sight of his drawn handgun.

"Sweet Jesus!" The officer cried as I looked at him. I caught a glimpse of a man of tall stature, and the gun aiming directly at me, level with my eyes, the black barrel shadowed the insides, there was no light, it looked like pain. "Please...?" I said, not sure if it was a plead or a question. Then the world dissolved into a few star bursts of bright light and then blanketing darkness.


	16. Chapter 16

**Authors note:** Phantom Solider remarked in a Review on my latest chapter that the ending of my last chapter was "too similar" to that of the ending of the latest: "Dawn of the Dead" movie. This was done deliberately. It was my sort of tribute to the first horror move that has ever truly, down deeply scared the shit out of me. It's a tribute to a movie that for the next few months had me turning on the lights BEFORE I went into a dark room. So...I DO NOT OWN THAT SCENE FROM THE MOVIE. I only took the idea and modified it. As always, enjoy and tell me what you think (AKA: review review review!).

**Edited to add:** Hey guys! This is a huge chapter just for you all! I decided to be nice and write a lot in one sweep for you! Kind of like a late Valentines gift. Zombie Valentines for all!

There wasn't a sudden abrupt wake to consciousness. I must admit I was slightly at loath to come to full wakefulness, It was warm and felt safe. Though majoritly I didn't want to face reality again. It was cold, wet, bloody, painful, and horrifying. Sounds returned to me first, as though someone was tuning an old radio, the tones shifted, broiling in confusion in my ears. The falling flakes of snow sounded impossibly loud as they landed on the cloth of my jacket. There was a few low booming noises, I assumed the resulting noise of more explosions in town. Then, the scratching noise of shifting clothing, harsh breathing, and the distinct noise of metal clinking against metal.

I felt weak, like I was drained of life, I attempted to move my arms, but they only responded with a twitch. A loud curse exploded near my ear drums, and my eyes snapped open in surprise. Directly beside me was the officer, he was so close I could see the individual lines in his blood-shot eyes, they clashed with his distinctive emerald green pupils. I could even see the bristle-like hair growing on his unshaven cheeks, it looked strange, not at all meshing with his closely cropped brown hair. I shifted my eyes, his gun barrel was not five centimeters from my forehead, the barrel vibrated in his nervous hands. I could almost smell his fear and indecision, it melded together into a strange cologne. Fear, it is the strongest of all scents. Sex is a close second.

Wetting my dry lips. Dry tongue to dry lips, I was afraid. One wrong move, sound...and I would be lacking a face. And for me, I am a firm believer that ALL body parts are better when whole and attached, thank you very much! Wouldn't you agree?

"I am...I am..not one of them." Was the only response I could give. My voice was scratchy and weak sounding. I felt as though my tongue had dried up in my mouth. It was like speaking through a mouth full of gravel, with sand paper for a tongue.

At my words his eyes visibly widened and he almost lost his balance in the fluffy snow. It could have been amusing, on any other day.

"Sweet mother of the holy Jesus!" He exclaimed. "I wasn't sure Miss, your appearance gave me quite a turn! You are the first person I have seen alive since my squad was overrun around noon."

"Sorry, but it's been quite the day." I replied with a slight smile. To my surprise he flashed a big white, toothy grin and helped me to my feet as I told him my story. Wavering slightly, I leaned against my car hood, ignoring the large dents, scratches, and the gore that encrusted the majority of it. God, I still remember the stench, everything around me stank liked tainted death. Come to think of it, thats the smell that permeates the old cities. If we ever take control of the world again we are going to have to purify everything with fire, just to rid us of the damn stench. When I finished my story he exclaimed his surprise, and predictably praised my strength, abilities, and bravery and all that shit. I shook my head internally and told him I was just lucky.

As he was replying my eyes were drawn over his shoulder. There was a movement in the forest. I remember this moment, it felt like my heart was being squeezed, and I swear that it stopped for a second. I saw another flash of movement, and then, meters from us, a small figure came crashing out from the tree line. Wordlessly I pointed, my eyes felt huge, to big for my face. The officer spun around, gun raised. But once he saw the thing, he made no move to pull the trigger.

It was a little boy. Or it had been. Dressed in Thomas the train overalls and a white long sleeved shirt, that was tye-dyed in blood. His soother, attached to his coveralls on a metal clip, bounced wildly on his small chest as he ran, moaning excitedly towards us. "My god!" The Officer breathed. And I saw the gun lower. The zombie-infant was quickly closing the gap. I backed up, and yelled: "Shoot it! Shoot it! Shoot it!" "I can't!" He replied, voice cracking with emotion. Tears flowed down my face as I said following words: "You have too...or he will kill us." My mind spun at the dilemma. Right vs wrong with the grey area spanning forever. Oh god. Still to this day, if I had been in his place I am not sure what I would have done. It is quite different to be the one behind the gun, behind the power. Believe me, I know, and I am still haunted by every single one.

The shot rang out, loud and brazen in the crisp darkening afternoon. Less then a meter away, the child dropped. A neat hole in his little chest. Blood trickled down the blue jean coveralls. More tears. Rapidly though, the child was up and struggling to his feet. I gasped, the officer cursed. Another red hole blossomed, this time in the forehead and the little child went to sleep, for the last time.

Tears fell openly down both of us. This was the kind of decision no one should have to make. It is so common place in my life now, you live, they die. They are already dead, you save them from harming more innocents. You put them to rest, give them that final peace. It makes sense in your head, but you are still haunted by the nightmares. No matter how hardened I may have become, I still ache inside every time.

Finally, stuttering a little with suppressed sobs, I said meekly: "You did the right thing. You gave him...his... his final peace. And you saved us." The officer didn't reply right away, only looked down at the growing pool of blood that spread from the small body. "Yes, I think so", was his eventual reply.

As he scanned the area quickly for a sign of any others, I unsteadily made my way to the trunk and once I opened it I grabbed some water and fruit and leaned on the car to slowly eat it, savoring each bite. I could almost feel strength returning as I determinedly swallowed each bite. God I was hungry. Offering him a box of Triskqet crackers I watched wide eyed in awe as he engulfed the entire thing in minutes. "Holy shit." I muttered. He grinned back at me, his cheeks bulging like a hamster fettering away it's goodies. I felt more and more at ease with this man, he reminded me of a friend of mine, Darren, god, it was a sobering thought. I hoped he was alive. God, I hope they are all alive.

"You didn't have breakfast either?" He questioned with a wink, as he watched me inhale a few apples, a granola bar, and some fruits snack packs. "Nope, I woke up, and well you know the rest." I replied slightly distracted as I dug around in a few bags to rustle up the dog treats. In minutes Tia and Dan (as he later told me was his name, Daniel Russel) were happily getting acquainted, doggy kisses and sniffles abound.

As I was washing down my snacks with a bottle of water my cell phone jingle rang out again, It startled me so much that I almost spewed out the water I was swallowing. Choking slightly I flipped open the phone, it was Rachel again. I told her the situation, and that I had someone with me. "Will you be here tonight to get me?" She questioned. I looked at Dan I asked him what he thought. He looked out at the rapidly darkening sky, in minutes the stars were slightly visible. "Tell your friend it might be better if we find somewhere safe to hole up for the night before coming out to get her tomorrow. We will be worse off in the dark I think." He replied. I agreed, I wasn't about to go off on our merry way in the pitch dark, not being able to see if there is any sneaking up on us. I told Rachel the deal and she agreed it was probably the best plan. "Are you going to be alright" I questioned worriedly.

"Yeah, I think so. Just hurry up and come get me." She hesitantly replied, I could hear the moans of her undead mother, they sounded mournful and full of longing. Shaking my head I bid her goodnight and flipped the phone shut.

Shivering slightly as the air drew colder, I looked at Dan and asked: "Now what?" He smiled slightly and surveyed the parking lots surrounding buildings with a keen eye. Finally, apparently coming to a decision he pointed at a building across the lot. It was a security building, small and mainly made of concrete and brick, there was only one ground floor window. "This is as good as we are going to get tonight." He said. I agreed, it looked safe, or as safe as you can get.

"Lets move the cars by the doors." I said, sounding a lot more confident then I felt. "That way we can step outside and have only a few steps till we reach our cars." Dan agreed and quickly started his car, I followed behind him to the building.

Nervously I quickly grabbed an empty backpack from the trunk and stuffed some food, water, clothes and other items into it, clipped on the dogs leash and let her hop out of car, snuffling disgustedly at the cold snow that stuck to her paws, she had always hated being cold. Dan meanwhile had grabbed a few items out of his squad car. I could easily see a pair of binoculars, bullets, what looked like it might be shotgun shells, and a police radio before he came over and unzipped the back pack that was already firmly strapped on my back, and added his goodies inside. After a few minutes of scrambling around in his trunk, while I looked about, hoping nothing was sneaking up on us, until he finally found his prize. Clutching it firmly he placed a large shot gun in my hands, it felt heavy, cold, and foreign to my small hands. I gave him an odd look. He grinned a bit and said: "Don't no how to use one?" "Nope." I replied "I must have missed the 'Prepare for the Zombie apocalypse in school day'." I quipped, earning a loud chuckle from Dan. "Well I'll have to show you how, seems like you are going to need to know. For now, just hold it for me." He replied.

He quickly re-loaded his handgun, I was becoming more and more nervous, the orangish flickering glow of the street lights across the lot were the only lights around us now. Instinctively I raised the gun, holding it in my arms like I had seem on those action movies. I laugh now cause I didn't have a flying fuck how to work it! But it gave me a little bit of security, I guess. The crescent moon was rising in the sky and the stars were clearly visible, shining dully out of the smoky haze that seemed to obscure the entire sky. I swore I could hear the feeble, far away moans of the growing hordes of undead. I shuddered at the mere thought. Wuss.

Dan tried the door, locked. No surprise there. Gun drawn, he advanced around the side of the building, nothing. The back door, locked. Again not a surprise. I hopped up and down by the first floor's window, using the sill for leverage, trying to see inside. "Do you see anything?" He called from the other side when I told him what I was up too. "Nothing, just dark." I replied, slightly frustrated. He came back around the small building, gun in the left hand, a large rock in the right. "A gunshot might bring unwanted attention." He explained and chucked the rock through the glass. I covered my face as the window exploded, wincing at the loud sound of glass shattering, falling, crunching.

Grunting in triumph Dan proceeded to knock out the offending shards with his the stock of his gun before hefting his 6 foot frame over the window ledge, landing with a pronounced, but somewhat muffled thump on the carpet on the room. "Nice place." I heard him mutter. "Try the door I called out softly." He made no reply, and I was about to call to him again when I heard the front door, a few steps from my left swish open. "Locked from the outside only!" He replied, apparently delighted, poking his head out from the opening with a grin. I couldn't help but grin back at him, his light hearted humor was infectious.

I looked about me before I stepped inside, nothing once more the gloom that had descended around us, and how it served to unsettle me more. Surely the nights before this day had never been so foreboding? Nowadays the night is both friend and foe. I closed the door and clicked the lock closed, sighing deeply in relief.

The beam of Dan's flashlight swung about crazily as he inspected the room. Occasionally opening a door, gun drawn. "Nothing on this floor." He grunted. "Let me check upstairs." And with that he disappeared through a metal door and thudded up the staircase that apparently lay beyond. Not the most sleuthful of hunters I recall musing with a smile as I let the dog off to the leash, petting her distractedly as I listened for any noise upstairs. Only silence met my eager ears.

After a few minutes, his voice called echoing down the flight of stairs. "It's alright, all clear. They must be security for the industrial center. They must have never made it to work today." "Lucky us." I muttered as I made my way up the stairs to join him.

I fumbled a bit as I reached for the door knob. "Where the light switch?" I questioned. Blundering around in the dark, feeling the walls around the frame. "Probably not the best idea to turn on lights." He replied from somewhere down the hall, his body partially wreathed in shadows as he scratched at his upper arm, flashlight beam to the ceiling, clearly inspecting something. "Why not?" I asked. Then promptly answered my own question. THEY might see it. "Never mind.." I muttered.

"Theres a hatch up here! Hm, must go to the roof. Care for an expedition" He questioned as he shone the beam in my direction, lighting my way as I walked over to him. He reached up and grabbed the first rung of the wall mounted ladder that continued to the hatch in the ceiling. Climbing quickly up he ran his fingers around the edges. "Weird" He muttered, "there's no lock."

He continued feeling around until he found an edge and lever. Pulling it down it the lid of the hatch pop open with a whoosh of slightly compressed air, leaving Dan to only have to push it up the rest of the way.

The outside air wafted down, leaving a acrid, burning smell in my nostrils. "Blech." I commented. Nose twisting in disgust at the smell as Dan clumped up the ladder. I was up fast behind him. "Hm, nice view." Dan said as he walked around the length of the relatively small roof top. A air conditioning vent was the only decoration that spotted the gravely top. I looked into the distance, the area was mostly wooded, but I could make out some lights farther down the road. However, except for the occasional loud echo of noise from the city center, or the unmistakable rev of engine, everything was eerily silent. The sun was completely down now and we relied on the small beam of the flashlight and the clouded haze of the moon for light.

I flopped down on the rooftop, still feeling drained and weak. I ran my hands through my hair, it felt crusty, I can think of no other word for it. Urgh. I remember thinking I must have looked like hell. Well actually the first time I had a chance to check a mirror I realized I looked worse! I still mentally wince at this. I used to be quite particular about my hair, not so much anymore, as you might imagine. I ran my hands down my face, same story there. It felt as though I was wearing a second thin covering of skin, red flakes of dried blood flecked into my hands as I let equally gory hand fall back to my lap.

"Lemme' see those Binoculars. Quick." Dan demanded. I quickly shifted the pack off my back, unzipped it and fished around for a quick second, then handed them to him wordlessly. I squinted to where he was focusing. "Shitttt!" He cursed. Seconds later I figured out why. A small little beater car was puttering along at about 40kph, directly towards the industrial center.

Now dear readers, you might be wondering why this was something that was significantly bad? Well let me enlighten you. This piece-of-shit's top speed seemed to be around 40kmp, it probably hadn't been used in years, (and as I later discovered was almost completely out of gas). The worst part? Well the normal run-of-the-mill zombie can basically keep up with a vechile going that speed. Result? This fruit cake had a small horde on his tail! I remember, for like the twentieth time that day, actually thinking I could feel my heart sinking.

"Fuck! What do we do if they decide to stop?!" I questioned, sounded a little panicked. Dan shrugged. "Hell if I know, unfortunately we can't help em much if they do. By the time they pull in and try to get in those bastards will have them before they can get five steps. They are still a while off, I have a few minutes to board up that smashed window, at least I can cover it somehow. Call me if anything get worse." And with that he was off. "Be careful!" I shouted at his retreating back.

I pressed the binoculars to my face and prayed. The car was lighting up the empty stretch of road pretty well. I thought I could discern a man and woman in the front seats. Then I turned slightly and focused on the horde behind them. Oh joy. The horde had picked up some friends ... and then friends of friends. They ran behind the ancient vechile, moaning and growling in frustration, their arms out stretched, trying desperately to reach the back of the car. Occasionally one picked up enough wind and got close enough to scratch at the back hoods paint job, only to fall back into the main pack again. It would have been funny if they weren't so pathetic, and things weren't as dire.

I ran to the roof hole, skidding slightly on the icy gravel. "Dan! Dan!?" I called. "What?" He yelled, his voice muffled through the closed staircase door. "They brought more company!" I replied. "Gotcha!" He called up. "I am almost done!"

I hurried back to the edge. Oh fuck. They saw us. They must have seen the beam of Dan's flashlight as he worked downstairs. The ancient beast of a car turned toward us slightly, down shifted and began chugging into the empty lot across from us. The zombies seemed to sense their mood, and screeches of hunger echoed across to me. This can't be good, I thought.

"Dan! We have guests!" I yelled, not bothering to shout down the roof hatch, with the window smashed he could hear me just fine. "Okay!" He called back, and I could heard a frenzy of pounding noises. Then: "Holy sweet Jesus!!!"


	17. Chapter 17

Well, dear readers, I am back again. Before I return to the story, and start again in earnest, I feel like I have to mention, that the past few days of been worse then some we have had in a good long while. Seems like tragedy indeed strikes the hardest in the home. We went on a normal raid, spring is coming so we decided to go while everything was relatively quiet. Undead activity hasn't been that bad lately, and we desperately needed a top up on our supplies. Non-perishable food items, toiletries, and medical supplies were all getting low...and hey there is only so many ways to cook Spam! (Urgh) I have to say also that we were all stir crazy up here and just itching for some Old World action. Well, we lost two of our number, a big loss for us. We haven't had such a high causality rate for a good long while. It was a blow to me, Ben and Stan were mutual friends of Thor's, so we tended to hang out, which usually included a drunken game of poker and a few bottles of Grey Goose Vodka. I am really bad at poker, as such I usually ended up with a hell of a hang over the next day. But I cherished every minute, you might know this feeling, having survived so long to be reading this. You learn to cherish every moment, every second. Because it could be your last. Plain and simple.

I don't want to go into the specifics but the mission plan Kirren fashioned should have been fool proof. We had a two-pronged raiding party on a Wholesale store in a city two hours out from home.. We took two of the large pickup's equipped with massive bush-bumpers. There was Thor, Julie, and myself in the first truck, with Kirren, Stan, and Ben in the other. Stan was already on edge, sitting in the back of the truck as we pulled out, gun ready, biting his raggedly bitten nails. His younger sister had worked at the Wholesale as the opening manager before the day, she had left around 3am on the morning of the first day, to get ready for the first early morning truck of stock. He hadn't heard from her since, not even a phone call.

It was a long drive, I still get nervous on the long tedious drives to our destinations. Ben drove our truck along the back roads as much as possible, twangy country music on as we winded our way towards the city. Even though the roads were relatively secluded, we still had to put close to twenty of the suckers down. Thankfully the wholesale was on the edge of town and to our knowledge hadn't be raided yet by other outposts, we need to top up on virtually everything. We pulled into the lot, still snow-covered with a good two feet. Small lumps puckered the entirety, apparently a few more people seemed to have made it to work then we figured. Julie joked about checking out the clothing department in her cheerful voice, from the back window, her short curly hair framing her face and accentuating her deep dimples as she grinned at me. I smiled and joked back with her as Thor and Stan stood alert in the back box guns trained on the building and surrounding lot. Kirren came over the CB ordering a quick sweep around the building. The entire span of the building was periodically spotted with bloody prints and smears, old, rusty red and faded. But the windows and doors looked relatively undamaged. Since conditions on all counts were favorable, Kirren said the raid was a go and we took up positions. Julie and I climbed up on to the roves of our respective trucks, positioned so we could see the approach of any undead. Holding loosely onto Daniel Russels old shotgun, I surveyed the surrounding snowy landscape with my binoculars, and located only a small knot of figures that was still some distance away, I was unsure though if they were coming towards us, it's hard to tell when they mill about. Meanwhile the boys worked on the lock of the loading bay doors. "It's locked up tight!" Thor grunted, his huge muscles bunched, seeming to strain on much that one could foresee them popping out from the inside of his arms. "Get the power saw Stan!" Kirren ordered, his calm voice never raising an octave over normal. Shit, like today was just a regular walk in the park? Fuck no. It doesn't matter how many times you do this, it is as dangerous as fuck.

Soon the saw started and I remember clearly, the screeching sound of metal screaming, saw gnawing. Then a loud clunk as the door knob fell to the ground inside. We paused as one, alert for a sound, inside or out. "Possible undead movement!" Julie said loudly over her shoulder, her binoculars still tightly pressed to her face. I swiveled back, the cold from the chill metal hood seeped slowing through my heavily padded outdoor gear, I wiggled a bit to regain a comfortable posture. I remember squinting through my slightly fogged glasses, sure enough, a small group across the field to the right were heading our way. The sound of the saw must have alerted them. Kirren came to stand beside me, the large truck dwarfing his small frame. "Silencers?" I questioned as I peeked over the edge at him. He nodded in agreement. "You two take care of this before coming in, Stan will be just inside the door waiting if you need him, the rest of us are going to start a quick sweep of the inside." I nodded in agreement. Julie and I quickly attached our respective silencers on our additional handguns (the usual gear for raids, two firearms, no less.) and quickly took aim. They had to be put quick down before their moans and screeches alerted the rest of their brethren, milling nearby. Minutes later the slaughter was over. The closest they ever got to us was halfway across the lot. Not bad I thought, as Julie and I exchanged gleeful high-fives while I rapped a quick pre-arranged rhythm on the door. Once inside Stan, Julie and I all fanned out, working our way through the piles of stock that littered the warehouse. I hated being so enclosed, each stack of boxes, each shelf, wreathed in shadows, each shadow hungered for my flesh.

Stan's gruff voice crackled with static through the radio attached to my hip: "Hey I have blood stains, someone has been here." Even through the radio I could detect a hint of hope in his voice. But as I kept walking, hesitantly along, watching old, brown blood stains as they trailed on the floor, moving sometimes to a box, a hand swipe of lifeblood, a marker. This was their territory. My heart sank, there was no way his sister could still be alive, even if she has locked herself somewhere, it was two years ago! Kirren seemed to echo my thoughts, his gentle cautionary voice recommending a level head and caution over the radio.

A shadow loomed to my left, I swiveled adrenaline spiking to a new level of alertness, handgun raised, but it was only Thor. He winked and motioned for me to follow. Quickly he led me to a railed off ledge what looked over the entire retail floor. My nose twitched at the rotten smell of decomposed food that wafted upwards. "Yuck!" Julie commented as she joined us, wheeling behind her an already half filled shopping cart, stacked with packed boxes. "Starting early?" I questioned, with a raised eyebrow. "Keep your nickers on." She grinned back, her British accent rolling thick off her tongue. "It's toilet paper." Thor grunted with amusement, his eyes focused down at the stores floor, binoculars raised.

"Well, it looks clear. This place is loaded, it's going to take a few trips to empty it. I wonder if Todd will let us borrow his rig?." He commented, after finishing his survey and turning towards us with a happy smile. Almost predictably, just as he had finish those worlds, the screech of the undead echoed across the floor, followed by quick, erratic footfalls. "Care to restate that?!" I questioned sarcastically as I whipped around, searching for the hell-fiend. We didn't have long to wait, not thirty seconds later Kirren's lithe form whipped around the corner of the canned goods aisle, closely follow by a ragged figure. Only the moans showed it for what it was, if it had stayed mute and still it might have been mistaken for a long dead corpse. I glimpsed the dull white sheen of bone through a rip in the shredded uniform he lived and died in. Julie quickly took aim and brought it down by the meat corner. Her shotgun blast echoed deafeningly in the enclosed space. Kirren climbed atop the counter and gave us a wave. His voice, still amazingly calm came over the radio: "Thanks Jewels, He surprised me. Is Stan and Ben with you?" - "No." I responded. "I thought they were with you, weren't they?" - "We got separated." He replied curtly. We quickly got a hold of them minutes later on the radio. They had located Stan's sisters office and were about to break it open.

"Hold up!" I called. "Let us back you up!" I felt dread, it just seeped through my bones, a chill. At the time I didn't know why, but thats always the way it is, fate is a fickle mistress it seems. Kirren agreed with my plan and without waiting for them to confirm, and we moved as one downstairs, metal stairs clanging as we descended, meeting Kirren on the way.

Not six meters from the office door a triumphant howl sounded in the eerily empty warehouse, followed by an accompaniment chorus of hungry moans. Then a strangled yell, a pained cry, and a curse, cut off by a hail of bullets from Ben's machine gun. We sprinted then, our legs moving in long steady strides. Metal clinking on metal, harsh breathing, accompanied by the frenzied beating of our own hearts, clothes rustled, and boots thudded on the cold concrete. Turning around the last quick corner, we came upon a massacre...


	18. Chapter 18

**Authors Note:** Hello everyone, sorry for the long then usual wait for chapter 17 and 18. Real life got in the way for awhile. I think college midterms should go die. (hehe). Anyways, please tell me what you think of these 2 new chapters. I have noticed a lack of reviews for my last few chapters...COME ON GUYS YOU NEED TO TELL ME IF I AM SUCKING HERE! Review Review Review. Pleeeeeease! Anyways, this chapter marks the last of the inside story that I have created to put a little break in the plot for you. Hopefully this isn't giving anyone a hernia! (haha) But I am typing up chapter 19 as we speak. So hold on to your seats!

Sorry to have left you hanging dear readers, but sleep beckoned that night. I'll continue where I left off, I want to finish this while the event is still vivid in my mind. I want to gives these men a proper send off, a tribute to their dedication, a tribute in the form of a story.

So, as I was saying, we rounded the corner and came upon the scene of a slaughter. It seems as though Stan's sister had indeed made it in that fateful morning. It also become apparent that she had locked herself into her office with four others, thinking them safe from the horrors of the outside through the safety of a metal door. But their safe haven became their killing ground, and then their prison. One, or possibly more must have been infected. And, well if you have survived this long, you know what happens next. The scene was akin to the worst horror movie imaginable.

Stan was down on the ground, attempting to hold off the efforts of a woman with black hair as dark as his own. She growled in his arms, teeth snapping for his throat. Her nails gouging long furors out of his forearms, blood streamed in tiny channels to drip to the floor, mixing with his tears as he cried out her name, over and over again.

Ben's form was almost indistinguishable, so buried under a scrabbling mass of putrid death, as the other three sated their starvation at long last. We were speechless in the wake of such violence and horror, but certainly not motionless. In quick succession they dropped, my handgun did not waver as I brought down the single she-bitch, she dropped over Stan's quaking form, her black stringy hair splayed over her pasty, gore encrusted visage.

Kirren, already at Ben's side, checked for a pulse, the muscles in his left cheek twitching. He looked up at me shaking his head. I turned away as he rose, and put a bullet into Ben's barely recognizable face. Giving him his final peace. He would never know the hunger, he would not be doomed to forever walk the earth a monster, his soul would never be tormented as his body stalked and ate the living. He would have wanted that, but it didn't make the act any easier.

I walked to Stan's side. His arms bled, he was infected. Oh god, the memory alone is too much to describe. Julie was already at his side, tears cascading down her face, pausing for a second as they reached her dimples, then falling quickly down to her neck as she tenderly held his head in her lap, already it looked pale and clammy. A single bite mark showed on his chest, his white tank top marred by a splotch of red. He shook, looking about wildly as we gathered around him. His hand ghosted the air, I caught it and held it gently within my own, covering it with both my small hands.

"I don't want to die.." He whispered. "I know. But it will be alright." I told him sadly. His body shook, and tears fell shamelessly from his dimming eyes. "Cause I will be with her right?" He murmured, like a little child questioning an elder, he wanted the peace of knowing. "They all will be, everyone." I choked, emotion getting the better of me. His eyes began drooping, and his hand became slack in my grasp. "Do it..." He whispered as his eyes rolled back, till they were pure white orbs. " I will remember - ..." He began, only to have his voice silenced forever. What was he trying to say? We will never know for sure, we can only speculate. As his chest went still, Thor reached down and closed the eyes of his friend, no tears damped his cheeks, only a grimace of held back grief. "I'll do it." Was all he said, and he pulled the trigger before Stan awakened once more, no longer our friend, but the enemy.

After this, there was not much heart left in our small group. It would have been acceptable for us to just return home, and leave this hell behind, to let time work his magic, as he does to all things in time. But we had mouths to feed, people to provide for. The living needed to live. As much as we might like, life does not stop for the fallen. Thor walked out to the trucks, Julie at his side for backup as he collected two of the black bags, body bags. It was tradition whenever possible, to not leave our fallen comrades behind. They came home, to be buried among their fellows. To be mourned, loved, and remembered as the heroes, the protectors of the Sanctuary. Kirren banished us to fill the trucks with the most essential items, the rest would be picked up by a team tomorrow. He alone reserved the right to care for his men, to cover their ravaged bodies, and utter a whispered prayer for their souls. I still marvel how he can have such faith.

I close this account for now. I will pick it up after guard duty tomorrow, to continue the story of my escape. Life goes on here, even when those of the family have fallen. They would have wanted it. We all know it. I wish life didn't have to be decided by the bullet or the hungry teeth of the undead, but thats the world we now live in. All we can do is survive, to survive for the hope of something better. Because if we are without hope, what is left?


	19. Chapter 19

**Authors Note: ** Yet another chapter! Feel happy, cause I really should be working on homework! (sigh) Writing is addictive. As always, please READ & REVIEW. It is hard to know how I am doing if no one is reviewing, as you know I am always looking to improve. - Regards.

"_Hey Loyal Listeners! This is DJ Steve here, winding down from my significantly stressful day. I imagine yours hasn't been that dandy either. But hey, if you are listening, at least you are alive eh? I am supposed to be playing an exceedingly annoying and menotinus Emergency broadcast, but I decided not too. The message is already way out of date anyway. Anywhooooo...Here is the latest update on the breached safe points in our area. If you don't have a death wish I suggest not visiting Carson Creek Mill. It is the most recently overrun. Kudos's to Eric for the heads-up. Apparently he still has some of those fuckers chasing him. God speed man! Also, Salmon Arm's Piccadilly Mall is also overrun, big time as I have been told..."_

Go figure... I thought dryly, that had been the mall I had stopped at briefly, only to be chased out by that big mob earlier this afternoon.

"_Also, Vernon's Jubilee Hospital is overrun as both a hospital and safe center. Thanks to Nurse's aid Fran for getting this important message out. I last talked to her ten minutes ago, if any brave soul can, she has locked herself in a maintenance room on the third floor, she needs a hand for a rescue. Call my toll free number for details. To continue... Oh shit. Hold up, I dropped my list."_

There are was a moment of silence, faintly in the background one could hear the shuffling of papers.. Then just as abruptly he came back on.

"_Okay, well thats the most up to date information I have at this point. As you all know I am still hanging here at the station. I'd love a pick up if at all possible. Or, if you are looking for a spot that is relatively safe you can come hang with me and my zombified co-worker...no worries, he is well locked away...I think. You know, I am going to go check up on him. Y'all hang tight now and enjoy "Rockstar" by Nickleback, and I'll be back in half a sec."_

I turned down the radio dial a bit, thankful the building had a tiny rec-room, where this tiny old radio resided. I grinned, well DJ Steve still sounded chipper. I was glad he was still around.

I collapsed myself gratefully in a creaky recliner while Dan took the love seat across from me, flopping down with a tired sigh. We both felt drained. It seemed as though it was one trauma, one drama, and one horror time after time, one after the other. There was no time to soak it all in. I couldn't believe I wasn't dead yet. (I still can't!)

I looked over at Dan and asked if he wanted anything to eat. He declined, stating he felt a bit ill. I wasn't surprised. I dug around in the backpack and hasty jumbled together a slightly dry, but nourishing sandwich. Chewing gratefully I observed the room and my new acquaintance thoughtfully. Dan had his eyes closed, and was scratching at his forearm absentmindedly, he did look rather ill.

"Go to sleep for awhile." I said to him gently. "I'll stay up and wake you in a few hours." He grunted sleepily in agreement and insisted it be no more then two hours. Then he turned onto his left side, shotgun laid out carefully on the floor.

I got up and trailed to the broken, blockaded window, munching contentedly on a candy bar I had found on the table, and peeked out. The old beater car still crackled gently as flames slowly worked through the interior.

The moans of the remaining undead sent shivers down my spine. They prowled along the edges of the lot, as though sensing fresh meat nearby, but not quite sure where. Dan said we would deal with them tomorrow before we left.

I turned from the window, wrapping my arms around myself, walking about to keep awake. I walked into the small side kitchen and turned on the water, cool, clear, and clean. And I began to wash away all the horrors that this day had marked me with. Using a dish rag I delicately scrubbed away the grime, first at my arms and hands. The blood was so caked it seemed as though it might be permanent, but as I scrubbed more roughly, irritated red skin took it's place. I hissed in my breath as the previously ignored wounds throbbed into prominence. Long and short, shallow and deep, they all appeared as the blood washed slowly away. One in particular made me wince, a small shard of glass still glinted inside, so stained it almost blended it. I gave a loud yelp as I swiftly gritted my teeth and pulled it out, funny how something so small can cause such pain. I pressed a towel to the now bleeding wound and looked out the window, hoping the wind had drowned out the sound. Seeing nothing, I went to turn back to the sink, but instead connected to something soft and warm, no sooner had I opened my mouth to scream in terror, Dan's strong hand clampt down over my lips. Swallowing hard I turned around fully and softly uttered: "Sorry." He replied gently with an apology of his own, his dark brown eyes sympathizing.

"Sorry for waking you." I said. "I was just trying to get cleaned up here." He nodded and inspected my figure, taking up my arms and inspecting my face closely. "Those wounds need to be treated, there is nothing really serious, but they should all be treated with bandages and antiseptic. Who knows what kinds of diseases are around now? ..And...Oh..I am no doctor, but that deep one on your arm might need stitches." He mused as he searched the cupboards in the kitchen until he came upon a large first aid kit. As he muddled about I scrubbed hard at my face, having a strong desire to be clean, to feel human again. Biting back the stinging sensation, I opened a fresh bar of hand soap and worked it into the dish rag, the soap made my eyes sting and tear up.

I went to the mirror and through the dim light of Dan's flashlight my face took shape. Marred only by multiple blood encrusted cuts that puffed up from my skin, angry and red. A single black and purple mass stood out above my right eye, probably when I hit the steering wheel after hitting the pole. I looked like a disaster victim. But still, and I remember smirking as I thought the same thoughts I had that morning, _Not bad for the day of the zombie apocalypse._ In spite of myself I smiled.

I reflected on the days events as Dan treated my wounds at the small scratched up coffee table., the antiseptic burned but I kept quiet, biting my dry lips was the only evidence of the pain I felt. From the very start, to that crippled old beater car and their zombie fan club. Yeah, it was terrible, they had come to us, hoping for salvation..a respite from the cruel world we now live in. They had circled around the building calling to us for help. Two older people, a couple perhaps. But it was not the zombies following them that did them in, it was a demon from the inside. The older man driving had been looking right at me, seconds before he met his grim fate, one hand on the wheel, the other extended outwards, as though to touch us. And I watched as his injured wife turned and set upon him, devouring the succulent, tender flesh of his neck. If this had been a normal day, without screams and blood, it might be have looked like a passionate show of affection. Until his screams stopped, and she tore his throat out. Before either of us could react their ancient car weaved out of control hitting the side of the building, crumpling the hood. The following zombies set upon the car in a wild frenzy. But their long held hunger only had time to sate itself for a brief time, until their howls rose into the air, another demon had joined their swelling ranks. The two fresh members climbed over the crumpled glass and twisted metal to fall awkwardly on the snow covered ground, getting unsteady on their feet. We soon lost them in the twisting mass of undead.

Dan hadn't even had a chance to fire his handgun. His initial look of shock faded into a look of passive aggression, then guilt and resignation. I sighed and a while later, after watching the crowd below, led the way off the roof.

I remember coming back to myself, away from my memories quickly as I felt Dan's cool, and strangely clammy fingers smoothing a bandage down over a particularly large gash on my forehead. He gently brushed away my bands, stringy with dried blood. Soon after he ushered me back to my recliner, fussing over me with blankets, insisting I take my turn and sleep. Before I could so much as open my mouth to protest in earnest the issue of his own lack of sleep, my eyes drooped and I fell asleep in what must have been record time.

Darkness and nothingness rolled over me, and just as I lost myself to it, a howl sounded. Loud and full of longing as it floated in from the window. To this day I am unsure if it was maybe a wolf, calling for his mate, or the chilling howl of the hungry undead, thirsty for flesh.


	20. Chapter 20

The next day dawned red and hazy, the air still smoky and smelling of death, or so I was later told, I slept till 9am. Dan had been on the rood, watching the sun rise, and trying to raise some of his fellow officers on his radio, to his annoyance he had no luck.

I was woken by his thudding footsteps as his tromped up and down the roof, emitting the occasional loud curse. Bewildered I wrapped the blanket about myself and padded across the floor, making my way up the ladder into the snowy morning. The surprisingly muted "pop" of the silencer intrigued me. As I studied him I could almost see his muscles tense as he took aim. Another loud pop followed and a rather large man tumbled to the ground with a slick thud. Without even turning he greeted me, and in a second my respect for him sky rocketed. Man, I am still in awe of him, my first real life hero...

I saw down on the gravelly roof and watched as he picked, seemingly at random, out of the crowd and their depleted numbers swindled even further.

"The main group must have pealed off during the night. We are lucky." Dan said conversationally as he re-loaded the handgun with the ease of long years of practice. Abruptly he thrust the weapon into my grasp. I raised an eyebrow at him, instantly regretting it as it pulled on one of the cuts near my eye. "Your turn." He replied. I nodded, and then mimicked his stance by the roofs edge.

Feeling more then a little silly I held it, closing an eye to aim almost without thinking. Gently he took me into his chest, my smaller form molded into his, and he repositioned my arms and my fingers on the gun. "Pick a target." He whispered into my ear, his breathe tickling at my neck. As I attempted to focus I was suddenly very aware that he was very much a man. His shoulders and arms tippled with well-defined muscle, I could even distinguish the pleasant scent of his cologne. In spite of the sweat and grime it still clung to his person after so much hardship. This scent has stayed with me to this day, call it a security blanket, and scoff if you wish but it is one of most comforting things left to me in this world. But I remember that that whole talk made me wonder how I smelt. Oh God! Did I stink? It's funny, just the trivial things you remember.

"Pay attention and aim." His voice, gently chiding resounded in my ears. I shook myself from my musings and looked at the dew remaining figures. Scanning, I quickly located the perfect candidate. A middle aged man in a suit that would have made a crooked used car salesman cry. He was poking about in the charred car, still smoking slightly. I grinned widely as he turned about, his toupee swung widely, barely attached at one ear. I squeezed the trigger cautiously and met resistance.

Then pulled it all the way back. My first shot and all I hit was a snowbank. I don't know what I was expecting but I must admit I was slightly disappointed. On my third I finally hit him, but I still think it was pure luck that I actually hit him in the head. I remember grimacing, even after my first bloody kill the day before, it was sickening to watch his head explode in a shower of blood and brain matter as h toppled to the ground. Urgh.

"Good." He grunted, "Clean up the rest." He stated over his shoulder as he made for the door. "Where are you going?" I questioned, "A shower, I stink!" I only grinned and turned back to the task at hand. Five misses later the remaining four were down and I returned downstairs, greeting the resident puppy dog who came to sleepily greet me, stretching, snuffling, and yawning. I scooped her up, laughing as she sported her trade mark doggie grin.

I clipped on her leach and gun in hand I peeked through the door. Seeing nothing I cautiously stepped out, letting the dog take care of her business. As I looked about I remarked on the change my personal surroundings had taken. A day in my life used be be filled with university classes, books and watching the latests CSI show on TV. My days had been filled with the happy chatter of friends and family. Now my days are full of moans, smoking wrecks, howls, guns, and two choices: Life or Death.

We returned inside and the dog soon made it clear she was not impressed with my progress in making her breakfast. Digging in my pack I brought out her dish and poured in her dry dog food. I swear the

spoilt little brat gave me a glance of disgust before digging in. Pig.

Walking into the kitchen I snooped in the cupboards and fridge. Some leftover pizza, still in the box caught my eye and hoping it was still edible I started munching contentedly. Once the first piece was finished, and without an incident of me turning orange or sprouting extra appendages I figured it was safe and grabbed another, pulling out my cell as I did so. As I dialed I swore I could hear Dan humming in the small shower down the hall.

Calling Rachel, I walked to the window, looking out as I let it ring. I began to get concerned by the third ring. Finally she picked up.

"Geeze, way to give me a heart attack Rach." I groused. Nowadays paranoid thoughts keep you alive. She quickly rushed to explain: "Sorry! I must have fallen sleep." She replied. "How are you holding up?" I asked. "Ah, okay I guess, she is still down there. Oh god. I am starving, I think I am going to be sick..." She stated faintly. "Sorry hon, we are leaving soon, Dan is just showering. We had to take care of some of them before we could leave." I responded, wincing in sympathy at her plight. "Well, I'll cal you once we are close. Can you get on the horn and start calling everyone? I still haven't had a sec to do it." I asked. "No problem, I am sure I can clear my busy schedule." She said sarcastically. I laughed and he exchanged goodbyes.

I began packing up my things, getting read to leave. Minutes later Dan appeared, slightly damp looking, but clean (which was more then I could say for myself) and ready to go. Seeing my eyebrows raise he sheepishly replied: "There was no towels." To this day I am not sure what set it off, possibly the stress, and his dripping appearance, or his mouth set in a perturbed expression, but I started giggling. Giggles turned into full fledged laughter. His bug-eyed expression at my reaction only made it worse, and I howled with mirth. Probably out of sheet confusion his laughter joined mine and we laughed till I felt sick, and both our eyes streamed.

Hiccuping slightly I flopped on the love seat clutching at a stitch in my side, giggles subsiding slowly as he grinned down at me and began attaching his belt components securely. Gathering up his shotgun and standing up, I handed him back his handgun. He motioned with his hands, "You hold on to that for me." He said, handing me the holster.

Then like any young burley guy he asked about breakfast. I only smiled and dug about in my pack, bring up a handful of snacks. "Feeling better?" I questioned, I was hoping the morning would have brought a chance, but if anything his face seeming paler, dark circles ringed his eyes. "Just fine." He responded. "Liar." I shot back. He only chewed on a granola bar, slipping Tia the odd bit as he pet her with his free hand, determinately not meeting my gaze. Deciding to change the subject I filled him in on Rachel's condition and we discussed our plan to make our way there.

We decided to full his car with everything that was in mine. Needless to say my car was significantly trashed and wasn't safe to drive anymore. Finishing our snacks I finished up the packing, including the first aid kit while Dan went to scope out our situation from the roof. Quickly he came down. "All clear." He replied, "This is an good a time to go then any." I agreed and we cautiously, almost sleuth fully made our way to the cars, thankful I had thought to suggest that we park so close. "I'll keep watch." Dan said softly, gun raised and posture alert. I popped the trunks, and as Quickly as I could started ferrying all my stuff to his trunk. Shifting his eyes to me he qwerted an eyebrow as the third duffel bag went by. "Bring the whole mall did you?" His eyes sparkling with laughter. Damn the man, in the face of such horror and illness, he could still make me laugh. I gave him a snarky look and in spite of my pride I stuck out my tongue at him. He only chuckled.

"Hold on!" He said roughly a few minutes later as I just was shoving the last shopping back into his trunk. He moved out of my line of sight, I could hear his footsteps crunching on the snowy ground. Alert to possible danger, I felt my heart beginning to speed up...

I could only think: "Now what!?!"


	21. Chapter 21

Dropping in the last bag, the dog already safely stowed away on the back seat, I clenched my fingers around the cold steel of the gun handle, fumbling numbly with the snaps of the holster, fingers suddenly foreign and useless. Piping up my courage I peeked around the open trunk lid, just in time to catch a glimpse of Dan's tan uniform right, then moved out of my line of vision.

Suddenly the jingle of keys caught my ear, and not a second later a small key ring sailed through the air to land on the snowy ground with a loud clinking noise at my feet. Getting the hint immediately, I picked out the key from the ring that looked the most promising and moved about to the front of the vehicle. What I saw made me almost drop the keys.

A small group was moving towards us. It was still a ways away, but closing in the gap fast nonetheless. Dan had moved towards a stand of trees a few meters away, trying to find some cover from the undead group that was zeroing in on him like he was some sort of perverse homing beacon.

It was like a movie flowing in slow motion. I could have screamed in frustration. Could nothing go smoothly anymore?! The loud booming echo of his shot gun spurred me on. But in my mind it sounded like the final charge before the battles end. With the vanquished still defiant and proud, even at the end, but still doomed nonetheless.

Another group crashed out of the brush level with my left, across the lot, and Dan swiveled, blowing the two fastest away before turning back to deal with those coming at his front. Half in the door I raised the handgun and shot widely into the howling crowd coming fast at my side. I didn't let myself check if I had met my mark, instead I chucked myself in the drivers seat, letting the gun slip to the cars floor at my feet. I jammed in the keys, fingers fumbling for purchase on the small cold metal, my eyes fixed on Dan, gun raised, firing into the two-pronged advance, the midday sun at his back.

"Shit! Shit! Shit!" I cursed, turning the key home till the engine roared to life. It was truly music to my ears. Thank god it was an automatic I breathed, and said a quick prayer at my luck. I remember the distinctive screech of burning tires as I stepped down on the gas as soon as the motor sounded, feeling that second of slide before the tires gained traction.

I honked the horn loudly as I raced towards him. Mere meters from him the second group coming from the left collided with my cars moving side. Screaming wordlessly I turned the wheel, angling the car widely trying to escape their horrid torn faces and beating hands.

I did a swift, tight circle, making my head spin a bit, and slammed on the brakes. Then accelerated again, trying to escape from the hordes moaning barrage. All the while wishing fervently I was still on the buildings roof, so removed from the heart pounding horror of facing these hell-fiends face to face. I still don't count this as cowardice, they really do have all the advantage. Fuck. Humans should have been born with claws or laser vision or something. Anything!

Dan ran towards me, trying to reload as he came. It seemed as though I couldn't get to him fast enough, the slams and bangs of meaty fists or frustrated howls somehow seemed so far removed from me, muffled somehow.

Tia snarled in the back seat, scrabbling at the windows attempting to get at the fiends on the other side. Her neck fur puffed up, attempting to look as bad ass as a little munchkin like her could muster. Damn that dog is my hero.

Seconds from him, I was about to reach over and swing the door open for him, when a single zombie (a runner as we later would classify the type. They are the ripe fresh ones with minor fatal wounds, such as neck wounds or torso wounds.) reached him, tackling Dan to the ground as he was just swinging the rifle barrel, now fully loaded to face this new threat... he was only seconds too late.

"No!" I shrieked. In that painful moment, as they toppled to the ground together, a burred bundle of motion. I saw in my minds eye the extinction of my hope. I couldn't do this alone, I couldn't face this horrible mess of a world alone! I needed him. Not only that, but even in such a brief time of meeting, we had survived together and he was close, he felt close. I think those who are reading this will understand this concept. You know what I am talking about, you survivors have to know. Even if your fellow survivor, you friend fell victim to the hordes the very next day after meeting. You felt the loss, you felt it as though it was of your own flesh and blood. In this world, friendships can be made by a mere look in someone eye, and a bond is formed.

I admit I completely lost my head. I did a skidding turn till I was roaring back towards the main horde. Crunching glass and bones, bams, smashes, and cut off howls followed as I mowed through them, barely seeing my targets fly as a fine mist of red covered my vision. Later I realized this was not a mist of red rage, but the blood of the enemy, splattered over the windshield. I was damn lucky none directly hit the windshield. Whirling, I came around for another pass at the remainder.

An echoing boom only minutes later woke me from my tirade of supposed revenge as accurately as a cold shower. I hit the breaks. Dan stood in the middle of the lot, looking towards me as the truly dead corpse of his attacker fell to the ground in a gushing waterfall of red. I could have kissed him.

Running to the car he winged off another shot at one of the remainder. Huffing like a winded elephant, he hurled himself into the seat, rifle colliding with the roof as he juggled desperately to fit inside with the shotgun raised.

"GO! GO! GO!" He shouted, barley missing clipping his foot as he slammed his door shut, a few of the undead right at his heels. I couldn't help it and uttered a sarcastic "Duh!". Then we burnt rubber exiting the lot with a handful of undead ...still following. Stumbling after their escaping prey.


	22. Chapter 22

"Shit!" That was fucking close!" Dan exclaimed as we sped towards the small isolated district of Grinrod,to Rachel and hopefully safety. It was mainly a farming community, or perfect for those who dislike the city life.. I stayed silent, fingers in a vice grip around the wheel as he wiped a knife stained with blood from his belt on an equally filthy pant leg. "Phew! I was almost toast." He continued. "He knocked the gun clean out of my hands. Managed to stick him though, helped me push him off before my shot gun dealt with him. I was lucky he was only a little one."

We sat in silence for a while, Dan reloaded both our guns, reaching down under my chair for the handgun I had dropped. Finished he turned to me and began speaking. "Now I know." He said, with the air of someone who has just unraveled a particularly puzzling mystery. Taking the bait, I replied: "Know what?". "Why you have made it this far." He responded solemnly, his dark eyes piercing.

"What do you mean?" I questioned, genuinely curious. "You are strong. Your a fighter. You are going to get through this." He intoned, voice strong. I said nothing for a moment, my mind racing through a dozen previous conversations of this nature, and remembering my bold responses, there was no way. I was just a lucky woman, scarred absolutely shitless as my worse fear in the entire universe came to life and distorted my world before my very eyes. I had been lucky so far, weirdly lucky, but I knew it couldn't last. And I told Dan my thoughts, but he cut me off with an upraised palm. "Some people just have what it takes." And that was all he would say.

"Thank you." I responded, placing my hand on his arm companionably. But to my surprise, he groan in pain. "What is it? Whats wrong?!" I questioned, my mind whirling with all the horribly possibilities. Was he bitten? "Ah, its nothing. Just a scratch from yesterday. It got rough yesterday when they overran the barricades we set up around town. I must have scratched it on the ground or something." He said, wincing as his rolled up his sleeve, exposing his upper arm, a white roll of gauze and the padding of a bandage. Lifting off the rosy stained bandage to reveal an angry, puffed scratch, about as long as my hand. "Oh. That doesn't look good." He commented, choosing that time to give hacking cough. "You don't look or sound that go either." I replied, looking over his form. He was slumped into his chair, posture limp. His pale face had taken on an almost pasty color, glossed over with a sheen of sweat. The circles under his eyes, dominated his face, making his look gaunt and skeletal-like. He looked through his glove compartment, taking a tiny tube of disinfectant and healing salve out of the pocket first aid kit. Hissing in pain as he rubbed it into the wound. Then he closed his eyes, looking exhausted.

My worry grew. This cut might be infected, and I had no first aid experience. Hospitals were definitely out the question. Maybe it wasn't even that serious? He hadn't gotten a lot of sleep last night...maybe he just needs to rest? My mind whirled.

Racing down the highway, well out of Salmon Arm now, the undead activity started to thin out, the small packs of undead became less common. I hadn't seen a zombie since the running figure coming at us from across a wheat field ten minutes ago. I breathed a sigh of relief, hoping for now that the undead problem might slack off for awhile, so I could deal with many other pressing issues.

Swerving around a crashed Semi and multi-car pile-up, averting my eyes from the passenger window of a car, smudged with bloody prints. I didn't want to know what was still inside. I looked over at Dan, he had pulled out a crumpled picture from somewhere and was looking at it intently. "Your family?" I asked. He seemed to emerge from a trance-like state and looked over at me with moist eyes. "Yes, my wife and my son." He replied, his voice breaking. "Carry, and Brock. We had another baby on the way. She was so excited. 6 months in. She was sure it was a girl. I was re-doing the nursery as a surprise for her. After my convoy was overrun, and my unit decimated, I was the only one left. I went home. I got her on the phone a few hours before...I told her not to open the doors for anyone, and get into the attic. When I got home, she ran to meet me. But it wasn't her. Couldn't have been her. It wasn't my Carry." He explained, his breathing heavy.

My heart broke all over again for his loss. I patted his thigh, at a loss of how to comfort him. I told him I was sorry for his loss, then feeling that leaving it at that would be lame, I told him about my sister at her work. And I was having to suppress sobs as I finished. Dan fixed me with a equally mist eye, and I knew he understood.

I drove on, rolling down the window a bit to let in the stiff wintry breeze. I pulled my cell from my pocket and dialed Rachel's number. She picked up quickly. "Hey, I got a hold of the Twins!" She replied, her voice just about an joyous and exuberant as she could get, being hold up in a ceiling crawl space by her zombified mother. (I should mention, the twins are our friends, two brothers, Trent and David) "They are coming down now. They have lost their folks, they don't know what happened to them..." She said, pausing slightly. "Thats great news Rach! - But we might have another problem, Dan is sick. Real sick." I said unhappily,but I had to admit, at least something was going down right today. "Okay. I am almost there, about fifteen minutes out." I replied, the milling company, "A Sure Crop feeds" in a blur, trying to ignore the large undead mob that pulsed out from the battered metal doors. Staggering towards the "Meals on Wheel' ...so to speak. "Just be ready for us!" I yelled, Tia yelping as I turned sharply to avoid two stumbling figures, approaching from the road ahead.

In a quick glance I noticed a small turquoise truck gaining on us from behind. From the distance it looked a lot like Dave's truck. I stuck my arm out the window and waved around my arm. Then dailed Dave's cell. His hesitant voice answered almost on the first ring. "Ashley? Is that you? Where are you?" He questioned, I could hear Trent in the background, his voice uttering a warning, and in mirror saw them swerved around a single staggering figure attempted to sideswipe them from the roadside. "Hey Dave! See the pretty cop car in front of you? Well I am driving!" I replied, somehow feeling giddy in spite of the situation. "WHAT? Are you shitting me?" He questioned. "Nope." I replied, "We are almost at Rachel's, lets figure all this out there. Alright?" I replied. "Gotcha, bye." He finished.

At a pained groan, I looked over at Dan. He seemed to be unconscious. Oh this didn't look good. I needed to do something, and do something fast...But what?!


	23. Chapter 23

**Authors Note: **** Hey Everyone, sorry to keep you all waiting! Hopefully you haven't all forgotten me! (LOL) University exams kept me really busy! Please read and review!**

By the time we screeched into the driveway I was breathing hard, my breaths coming in harsh, gasping puffs. I didn't even try and school my breathing, there was no point. Turning off the engine, and taking in the scenery for the first time since roaring to a stop, I saw Rachel's car, still smoking slightly, crumpled together in a twisted mass of metal, merging weirdly with her mothers forest green dodge.

Dave's truck slid to a smooth stop not a minute later, at my side. Trent looking behind anxiously, seeing if we were followed, as Dave leaned down, occupied with something on the floor of his cab. I craned my neck to see down the road. There were only a few ambling figures milling in the distance. Our tailing must have found easier meat to chase. It felt hard not to feel guilty.

Only seconds had passed, and before I could even turn and check on Dan, a small guttural symphony of the undead emitted a ghastly shrieking chorus to our front. A small knot of them appeared from the other side of the house, mouths open, as though in a ghastly trance, blood bleeding from the corners.

"Fuck!" I screamed. I was frozen in the act of motion, halfway between motion and motionless. But before I could even react they began slamming to the ground in quick succession. Swiveling, I saw Trent leaning out the side window, knocking them off with a handgun. Agilely, he was balancing on the cab's roof, face screwed in concentration as he dropped the oncoming fiends one at a time.

I fought panic as I struggled with my seat belt, desperate to be free of it's constraints. Stumbling out of the car, all seemed clear, the ones Trent fell made no movement in the muddy ground before us. They must have learned that only a head shot puts them down for good They probably learned that the hard way I mused. Shotgun in hand, I made to turn to the passenger side, to Dan. We needed to get him inside, this situation was turning from bad to worse.

Sinking into the bloody snow I wrenched myself forward. I seemed caught in a robotic-like stance, my movements seemingly too slow and jerky then what I deemed acceptable from my body.

Turning to Dave, I was calmed slightly by his anxious smile. "I didn't know you guys had a gun." I said, grinning slightly as I opened the passenger-side door, registering Dan's slight pulse and fluttering lids. This didn't look good. "We didn't." Trent grunted as he hopped out of the truck. "But our neighbors did." He finished, face grim as he appeared from the other side of the truck.

Before his statement had a chance to sink in, I turned, it time to watched as David's face changed, blanching before my eyes. Mouth open, eyes bulging, mouth working as he gazed at some unseen horror over my shoulder. Twirling on the spot, a small dark haired figure leapt from the trees, mere meters from me, not even pausing to howl triumphantly at the discovery of it's new-found prize. _Zombie-meat_... I thought to myself.

Things move too fast in this new world. I swung my shot gun forward, my vision forming a tunnel, and my ears buzzed, drowning out all sound. No time to aim, just fire, it is almost on you! I yelled at myself. A loud boom, and the figure slowed, a gapping hole in the chest, an annoyed snarl, and it plowed on.

An echo floated across my mind, and Dan's words came back. _"Aim, then you know it'll go true and straight. Otherwise you'll probably fuck it up." _ Funnily enough it was too true...

"Last Chance." I told myself, and aimed. The shot blasted from the barrel, emptying into the beasts forehead, mere inches away. It was an explosion of tissue, a fountain of blood. It went down, spraying me with it's frothy blood and brain matter.

Slowly, noise came back, and my vision cleared. Trent and Dave stood by my shoulder, looking down at the limp figure, darn raven hair splayed in a stark halo around it's ruined face.

"Rachel? ...No. ...Rachel!" Came Dave's strangled voice.

That was when my heart stopped beating...


	24. Chapter 24

**Authors Note:** **Am I a terrible person for the cliffhanger yet? (grins)**

"No..." I breathed. "It couldn't be... She was supposed to stay inside!" I stuttered, my voice climbing. The twins could only stand speechless at my side. I couldn't accept this...This was all wrong. Kneeling, I desperately attempted to identify the corpse, heedless of the streaming blood that pulsed from it's wounds.

A sudden howl and clatter woke us from our horrified stares, looking up we watched as a pale fist smacked into the decks sliding glass doors. It was Rachel's mother, pounding on the window, fists bearing at the stubborn glass with a vengeance.

Trent quickly refilled the gun, eyes skirting around, away from the small form at our feet. "I'll deal with it." He stated, voice toneless, so different from the Trent I remembered, who would dance about in that silly rabbit skin cap he loved, a goofy grin on his face.

"You sure?" Dave asked. "Yeah, you guys get him." He said, jerking a arm at Dan's prone form, slumped in the seat of the cruiser. We hurried to do so as Trent disappeared around the back porch. Looking away from the figure, black hair flowing, gleaming in the sun light, I forced myself to focus. Reaching into the car, I eyed Dan's pale face in apprehension. Dave soon followed, edging in with me, reaching in to grasp him, grunting slightly as he hoisted Dan's limp, dead weight. "Whats wrong with him." He questioned, as he gently held him by the shoulders. I brushed back, blood slicked hair from my eyes and grabbed his legs with my free hand, shoving the gun into my armpit.

"I don't know..." I said, hesitating. "I think he might be infected." Dave quickly looked from him to me, eyes worried. "I know..." I continued peaceably, as we stumbled to the car port door. It was usually unlocked. I hoped she had forgotten to lock in this time. Grunting at Dan's weight, I continued. "Either that or he is really sick. He was scratched when this all started, but he doesn't remember much. Maybe it is only the bites that... that .. you know... do it. I said, trailing off as my worst fears came to light in my frightened mind. _Not Dan! Not Rachel! Please God ...NO! _

Dave has paused, frozen in a hunched stance, staring at Dan's ashen face intently, watching his pale ;lips feverishly form words, silent mumbles to our ears. An echoing crash resounded from above. "Move Dave!" I hissed, heart thumping. "I am **NOT** leaving him!" To this day I don't know what was going through his mind. But I know if I knew then, what I know now, I don't know if my decision would be different. It is a hard thing to even think about.

Seconds later, another crash sounded, accompanied by the unmistakable peal of a shot fired. We hesitated, poised by the door, unsure if it was safe. Trent joined us mere seconds later, only nodding, I could only assume it was now safe.

"Take his feet!" I said. My hands soon freed, took up the gun once more, aim still unsteady and wavering. I pulled open the door, it swung open, creaking erriely, revealing a light less gloomy basement. My life has become way too much like a horror movie for my liking. How had this happened? Why?! I could have screamed at humanities misfortune.

These thoughts and more teemed in my brain, like maggots on a fresh corpse, decomposing my thoughts. Gun draw, as the boys dragged Dan between them, I traveled the familiar path through the darkness. I sighed with relief when we reached the entrance that led upstairs.

"Whats that sound?" Trent hissed, his person so close to my own that I could feel his breath tickling the side of my neck. Stopping, we listened intently, and immediately heard a thump, and the noisy sound of shuffling clothing. Throwing caution to the wind, I called out.

Abruptly, the noise ceased. Silence echoed about the house. Cringing, I remember expecting at any moment for a body to come fly down at us, nashing putrid teeth and sinking breath. Instead, I was reduced to tears ...

The tears streamed, but they were tears of the utmost joy. Rachel's small voiced, filled with uncertainty, but daring hope, floated down at me ...

"Ashley?" ...


	25. Chapter 25

**Authors Note: Hey ya'll! 3 chapters in 2 days! Feel loved! I am home sick from work today, so I decided that I could at least get something done this afternoon. Please review, I need to know how I am doing here! Pretty please?**

Quietness and sleuthfulness were abruptly abandoned as we rushed to help her down from the crawl space, Dan was deposited on the old couch, and after a quick embrace I filled her in on everything, moving to Dan's side and explaining his situation as the boys listened, watching the windows. Dave with Dan's handgun, and Trent with their own firearm. Words could not describe my elation, Rachel was alive. The possibility that I had killed my best friend, even in if she had been the enemy might have been too much bear. Even so, my mind kept replaying that memory, I could still feel the paralyzing horror I felt, seeping into my heart when I had shot down her doppelganger. How does one truly cope with taking another's life?

"Looks like they haven't spread that far here yet." Dave commented, his attention focused on the rough street below . 'I just hope that it will stay that way for a bit.' I muttered under my breath, as I grabbed a wet cloth from the kitchen, wiping Dan's clammy face. Rachel followed, looking intently at me, then him. She saw my barely contained horror and fear, and in true Rachel style, she attempted to sooth it. "You both look like shit." She commented, with the air of someone merely discussing the weather. I gave her a look, and handed her the cloth as she directed me though a short burst of instructions to her anaseptic and gauze. The bottle was dusty, but it would do the trick.

"He needs a doctor." She stated, as I walked back into the room, her South American features scrunched in worry. "The hospitals fell first." I said blandly as I kneeled, applying the stinging liquid to his wound. Eliciting a pained moan from the patient beneath me. I soothed him quickly with calm murmurs and continued to clean the festering scratch, carrying on with my depressing monologue. "I don't know what to do. I just, ... I used to be so sure that he would be here and know what to do..." I paused, sinking down on to a free corner of the couch, my head in my hands. "I have known him only two days, but he feels as close as ... as family."

I looked down at his pale face, furrowed lines of tension marring his young features. I felt as though I was watching a super-hero die. Hero's weren't suppose to die! They were supposed to be larger then life! Hercules-strong and unkillable! Yet in my heart, I knew I was watching one, a hero, and a friend lose the worst battle one could ever lose.

"I think he is infected." I continued, my heart clenching as I voiced my gut feeling. Rachel opened her mouth to speak, maybe even protest, but I overrode her. "He said he thought he had just scratched it on the ground when he was jumped by one of them when his squad was overrun. But I think one of them got him. We know a bite turns, but I think a scratch does it to, it just takes longer." I mused, completely pulling probable answers from the air.

Trent look back from the window, eyes hollow. "If he is infected..." He began, beginning to state the painfully obvious conclusion. So obvious and accepted now, but then, at the beginning of it all, as stupid as it might sound to all of you, I staunchly refused. That outcome was simply not acceptable. My mind refused to process this ... kill Dan?! No! I wouldn't let them!

I cringe now, thinking of the danger I put us all in. But somehow I cannot feel ashamed of it. "No." I said, surprising even myself with the sting of venom that enveloped that single word. I let my eyes lock on everyone in the room. Only Trent met and held my gaze. Still looking at him, I said: "We don't know for sure, we don't have the right to ...if we aren't sure ..Who are we to play God if we aren't sure!? What if it was one of you?! We would wait! I would wait, just to make sure! ...**We WILL wait**." I finished, the force of my decision ringing clear about the room.

"Agreed." Dave said finally, Rachel was quick to echo him. Lastly, as all eyes turned to him, Trent nodded solemnly. "But I am waiting with you." I only inclined my head in response, just grateful for the easy agreement. My fingers fiddled with the partially dried bits of brains and blood that flecked my entire front. Nervous fingers, I would have bit my nails if they weren't so gore encrusted. Having stood up in my anger and despair, I sank back down on the worn couch, feeling it groan and sink lower under Dan and I's combined weight.

They were all still staring at me. "What?" I asked, hearing the exhaustion in my voice. _God... Stop looking at me! _I screamed silently. I felt dirty, so deep down that I felt sure my very pearly bones were being stained with blackness, a glutinous sludge of guilt. Mixing with the crusted red of old dried blood, from those who had met their fate by the violent bullets of my shotgun. An instrument of painful death, used so many times now by me in the past few days. Foe or not, I felt stained to the very reaches of my soul, and it scared the shit out of me. Could they see it?

Rachel finally broke the strained silence. "What now? Was all her asked, her voice timid and small in the room. Dave nodded, and continued on the same vein. Voicing his own concerns, which almost mirrored the three W's...When? Where? And of course ... why? 

Sighing, I hesitated slightly, looking around at the group who were semi-circled around me. It seemed my place in leadership had already been decided. News to me! A normal twenty year old, promoted to the leadership of a group whose main goal was escaping from this crazy world. My training? A two day crash course in zombie survival. Oh yes...this was bound to go well.

Smiling slightly in spite of myself, I stood up. Might as well do what I can while I can do it, I schooled myself. Chances were we would be dead in about an hour anyway! - _I give you 45 minutes, tops!_ My brain replied in a decidedly snippy tone. 'Oh do shut up.' I told myself impatiently. This was all I needed...My brain second guessing my heart. Or was it the other way around?

Sucking in a deep breath, I though quickly. Surprisingly the right questions, answers and requests sprang easily to my tongue. Soon, the old home was alive in a rushing hive of bustling activity. Rachel it seemed hadn't had a chance to get much in the way of supplies and personal items packed before her mom has arrived.

I was just shouting another idea at Dave's fast retreating back when I felt a clammy hand, cold and slippery about my own, enclose my wrist. Entrapping by steel, encased in skin. Oh god...


	26. Chapter 26

Finally, I uttered a frightened squeal., Whirling I spun to face my attacker, but I calmed immediately, though my heart still thudded in my chest. It was Dan. He was looking up at me, panic evident in his every feature. Fear. I could almost smell it.

"Ashley?..." He croaked, throat rasping. "Something isn't right." He whispered, his bright blue eyes, dulled now, unsteady, wavering from my face, to the walls, to Trent, and back to me. I knelt at his side. "Shh.. rest. You are just sick." I replied, attempting to sooth him. "No!" He said loudly, his head snapping back and forth viciously, the grip on my wrist becoming vice-like in it's intensity.

"Something isn't right...it's inside...dark." He panted, voice rising in panic. His eyes suddenly widened, breathing shallow, his other hand scrabbled desperately, plucking at his breast pocket. "I got it." I replied, fingers submerging into the depths of his dirty tan pocket, pulling out his crumpled family photograph. Sighing, he held it close to his face, as though his eye-sight was failing him. He calmed visibly, caressing those memories of the past, captured forever as a smiling glimpse into a past now shoved aside by a rising, violent tide of the undead.

"Ahh, Carrie..." He crooned quietly, stroking her image reverently. "Where did you go? I came for you, but you had gone...Why did you leave me baby? Why? ..." I didn't realize I was crying until I saw a wet smudge bloom on his uniform. Sniffling I wiped a filthy hand across my face.

"This is wrong." he said, looking up at me, those sorrowful, so emptied of laughter and light, fixed on my face. I wanted to look away, but found I couldn't. I heard Trent move behind me, feeling his presence at my back.

"Ashley...Ashley, I don't want to be one of those things. I do want to go like that. Please...please?" He said weakly, squeezing my entrapped wrist. "No! Please Dan...Don't! I can't! You can beat this...please..PLEASE! Don't leave me here, we need you...I need you! Please..." I cried, my heart breaking, shattering, and I could feel as every piece as it smashed. I imagined I could feel the tiny pieces burn as they started through my arteries..burning a painful path downward.

I could only bow my head, eyes free of his skeletal face, almost completely devoid of the man I had come to know and care for over these few days. "Hero's aren't supposed to die..." I whispered.

"Sorry kiddo." He quipped. "This one has me licked." He finished, trying to smile, but fell into a fit of gurgling coughs. Leaning up, I took his head in my arms, heedless of the danger, cradling his head, trying to lift him so he might breath easier. After the coughing subsided, he beckoned me close, I leaned in obediently.

His following words have stuck with me to this day. I can even remember the tone of his voice, the feel of his wispy, dieing breath playing on the skin of my neck. He smelt like sweat, and a hint of sickness. I can't describe the smell, but you know the smell that envelopes you when you walk into a hospital? Well thats the smell.

Still gripping my wrist, he whispered...

"_My time is done,used up. It's just my time. Awww...no. Shhhh, no don't cry." _ He said, shushing me like one would a fretful child._ "I know you don't believe it, but you have what it takes. From the moment I saw you ...you were different. Hell kid, you are blessed. Maybe cursed, depending how you look at it. I don't know what, but I know this, there is a plan here. God always has a plan. Heavens knows what it is this time ..."_ He said, with a wiry chuckle on his lips. _"You gotta get outta here, head for the mountains like we planned. Set up a safe place to ride this out."_

"I don't know what to do..." I choked, tears just streaming from my eyes, down my face, splattering down on his uniformed chest. But he seemed not to even notice.

"No, you will Ash, you have what it takes...Do you trust me? Trust me, trust yourself. Trust your instincts, your gut feelings. You will make it..." He finished, his head falling back on the pillows. He seemed to shrink visibly. Breathing so low I couldn't even detect it anymore.

Panic rose to my breast. He was losing. "Oh god. Please. No.." I pleaded aloud. I felt Trent's hand fall comfortingly on my shoulder, the cold steel of the shot gun pressing lightly against my back, like a reminder of the undeniable, enviable ... the ending.

"Shhh." He murmured, eyes fluttering closed. Then, just when I thought he had left us, he began to whisper a phrase of age old wisdom, and in spite of myself, the thumping of my heart slowed. And even though I rarely frequent church I found myself reciting the phrases as though they were the prayers I used to utter even night in my childhood.

"_Yea..though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: For thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me..."_

Trent echoed the phrase with us, so quietly behind us that it seemed as though he talked only in a whisper. Repeating it once more, Dan looked up at me, and nodded...Standing shakily, I took from Trent the shotgun. Hoisting it as he finished the last word...a dieing whisper on his dry lips. The hefty wait of it, now familiar to my arms, gave me no comfort as I raised it to my eye.

"Be seeing you..." He murmured, then looked back down at the photo, a crooked finger brushing at it's surface, as though touching something more deeply then I could ever understand. Choking back a sob, I sighted, tears blurring my vision. "Oh god." I remembered thinking, Why has it come to this? Why is the world now only one of absolutes?

"Carrie..." He murmured once more, mind already in another place, one assuringly better then this hell. Then he slumpt back, breath rattling out, ringing out the finality of it all.

And the echoing boom of the shot gun blast sent him on. A bold salute as he flowed into oblivion. An accompaniment fit for a hero, as he moved on confident and with much faith, to his next adventure...


	27. Chapter 27

People often ask me, at this point in my story, What happened next? What were my next thoughts? Feelings? Reactions? Well truth be known, I have no idea. I read once, in a Psychology textbook that my psychology professor assigned us, before the old world fell, that in times of severe stress or grief your mind repressed the pain, so you can accomplish the necessary pressing tasks that you deem critical to do. I figure thats what happened. Dave later told me, after much pressing, that I seemed normal, just shut off, like I was separate from the emotionality of losing Dan. Mind already spinning off in hundreds of different directions. He also told me, after a night of one too many Molsen's, and an unfortunately drunken and unstable game of Twister with a few friends, who had all passed out on the couches around us, he shared, in a drunken haze, as clear as a majority inebriated person could be, that I had tenderly wrapped his ruined body in the couch blanket, making sure his photograph still lay fast in his hands. And then, as though nothing had occurred, organized and led us in our departure. I hope so. Cause I still don't remember shit.

The next thing I became aware of was the snow laden road. I came back to myself with the shotgun laying across my lap, one hand on the police cruisers wheel, and another with my cell phone at my ear, the device already ringing. I remember a moment of uttermost confusion. I had to grip the wheel hard, countering to make up for the effects of my shock. I noticed the tight leather sink slightly under the pressure of my steady fingers.

"You okay?" Trent asked from the passenger seat. Looking up, the mirror showed David's truck, Rachel in the passenger side, following close behind. How long had we been driving? I recognized none of our surroundings, the densely wooded wilds increasing at all sides. Good. The farther away from everyone the safer we will be.

Presently, the ringing of the phone stopped. Static filled my ear as a barely discernible voice floated into my hearing. "Hello?..."

"Richard?!" I questioned, absolutely incredulous and flabbergasted. The man I had spent the first day searching for, worried over for innumerable hours, was now connected to me through a god-sent of a piece of technology. "Jesus Christ! Richard!" I exclaimed. Not even giving him a chance to respond to my first quarry. I could barely hear his parents in the background, I fancied they were wondering who in the hell could possibly be calling. 

"God Ashley, I can't believe it, I thought you were dead?!" He replied, relief evident in his voice, even though the static. "Me too hun, went to your house. Got in, but you guys had left already. Instead, it was something else..." I said, trailing off at the memory.

"Oh yeah. We had heard the news, that the riots had spread here earlier that day. We were ready to go. We thought that since there were rumors of it hitting here we should take off for a few days, let it blow over. Then this woman started banging on the door, sobbing. We let her in, we didn't know. She must have been bitten. I didn't want to believe the reports at first. But her arm...her throat, God, it looked like it had been mauled. She said some man bit her. Then I knew. She, ...she went to the bathroom, we had only just closed it behind her when she ...she ..." He said, coming to an abrupt halt. I ached with understanding.

"Yeah, we got aquintained." I muttered. Swerving around an abandoned car. Shit. A car in the middle of the road? This can't be good. "Where are you?" I questioned.

"Heading to that cabin we stayed at last summer, it is quite secluded. Wait this out or something..." "WHAT!?" I almost shrieked. "You have to pass through all of Vernon's city center to get there!!" I exclaimed, seeing visions of their small convoy disappearing under a massive tide of the undead, submerged in black, bloody death.

"We are trying to find a way around." He replied swiftly, attempting to calm my overly frazzled nerves. "No, I don't like this Rich. Too dangerous. You know Vernon is bigger then Salmon Arm, I wasn't even in the center and I was almost toast." I cut in, not at all calmed.

The road conditions were getting more and more icy as the roads became more and more isolated. "Where are you?" He questioned. "Grinrod, we are heading into the mountains. I hope we can find some shelter. Dan was thinking about trying to get to one of those weather station complexes on the top. But I don't know how to get there. Rachel, and Dave and Trent are here with me." At his exclamations of surprise, disbelief, and a colossal amount of questions, I had to pass the phone to Trent. The road was commanding all of my attention, indeed, behind us, Dave's truck slid violently to the left, only coming back to it's center with some quick thinking on Dave's part.

Only half listening I heard Trent start the tale, his voice lowering to the point of whisper when he came to talk about Dan. I remember him shooting a few concerned glances my way. I pretended I didn't see, but my lips quivered, angry, I bit down on them till the acidic taste of warm copper oozed over my taste buds.

Where were we even going? I questioned myself. I looked out onto the snow laden road, Fuck! I had not the foggiest idea where to go...Shit! And I am supposed to lead everyone to safety? The unquestionable leader? Sighing heavily, I signaled and pulled over to the side of the road, bringing the cruiser to a sliding halt, I could hear the snow crunching crisply under the wheels. Flinging open the doors I emerged, gun in my grasp. I took in a deep breath, the air was sharp, clear, clean, and wholesome. To this day, I am the most comfortable breathing in mountain air. It is not the putrid, old, decaying smell of the cities, but it simply personifies freedom with every hard-earned breath you take ...And that, in this world, it something we don't take for granted.


	28. Chapter 28

**Authors Note:** Thanks for the reviews so far guys. You really keep me going with your encouragement and advise. Also, thanks to **Willy** for his help getting my directions and map stuff figured out.

Sighing, I rubbed my face with grubby hands, disgusting myself as a thin shower of dried blood rained down on the cruisers roof. Shit. I was filthy. Damn did I need a shower. I could feel the caked blood, and the three days of unwashed hair, weighing in on my shoulders, a greasy mass curling around my neck. Urgh, sick. I still hate that feeling. I motioned to the others as they came closer, and I began, voicing my thoughts. We needed a concrete plan, a direction!...A place! Something!

I led the discussion almost without realizing it, orchestrating the suggestions, questions, and concerns of the entire group as though I firmly knew the answers myself. Shivering now, I popped the trunk, and rooted about in my bags, finding my winter jacket, the one I always used to go skiing, and gratefully pulling it on. I reveled in the familiar homey smell, for a brief second, remembering back to the moment my mother taught me how to do laundry. I looked up briefly, and noticed that one more jacket was in order, and fished around in the myriad of shopping bags, tossing Rachel one of my sisters jackets. She was shivering fit to cause vibration as she thanked me gratefully, eying my loot in the trunk.

"Seriously, you are always prepared! What is it with you?" She joked, making light of my usual tendency to over-prepare. For a regular sleep-over, I always came with a book, flashlights, bottled water, snacks, and way too many pairs of underwear and socks. Much to the amusement of my friends of course.

"Well, now that it has paid off in such a huge way, you can't say anything more about it." I said nonchalantly, munching on a carrot, mindless of it's unpeeled, or unwashed state, I was past caring about the little things by now. But for some reason, my posture, or maybe my light-hearted quip turned into something hilarious to their ears. Rachel grinned, then burst out with laughter, causing a domino-like reaction, rendering the twins too, to laughter. Smiling weakly, not quite grasping the source of their hilarity, the sight of us, in the middle of the road, blanketed with snow, the personification of being on the floor of a massive arched cathedral of snow laden trees. Bowing above us at each side, creating quite the picture. The stupidity and strangeness of it all, watching Dave slumped on the cruisers hood, howling with laughter. "Nuts." I muttered, "Just nuts." I continued, a grin splitting my face in spite of it all.

Gradually, the laughter died down, tears of mirth were wiped away, and the general after laughter chuckles and sighs were expelled. Generally, we stood in a remarkably good position compared to most. We had a good amount of food, and various other important supplies. We had two working cars, though gas was soon to become an issue. The cruiser was half-full, Dan must have filled up just before he met me. We numbered four people, and one teed-off, exhausted pooch, currently going about her business on the roadside a few meters away. As I set out a dish of food for her, Dave got out all the maps he had residing in his glove box. Trent was attempting to get the cruisers GPS mapping system running. Grabbing another carrot, I slumped into the drivers seat, gazing at the radio. It looked like a regular CB truckers radio, maybe I an get some information on there! Leaning out, I shouted out my idea, Dave and Rachel moved the map they had been perusing to the cruisers hood in order to better listen.

Trent sighed in disgust at the GPS. "The satellite that feeds it must be out." He stated, rubbing a hand across his face. "It is that far spread?" Rachel questioned, fear evident in her eyes. "Looks like it." He replied, eyes roaming about her face, as if searching for those answers in her petite features.

Snapping on the radio, I tuned out the static, switching around to the channels at random, getting nothing but silence. "Is there a manual for this thing?" I groused, flicking about from channel to empty channel. "Try channel 15." Dave cut in, his voice floating through the open door from his position at the front hood, where he and Rachel were flipping through the maps strewn before them. "Huh?" I replied, but flicked the dial to 15 without his answer. "It is a station a lot of the truckers use when they go through here, a buddy at work told me." He replied.

Sure enough, within a few moments the static was replaced with voices. I was discretely amused and delighted to hear such stereotypical responses as: "Roger" and "Over and out." crackle from the set. We gathered in close to listen, and soon the activity over the radio seemed to form a pattern. Information of overrun safe points, infested towns, and other areas were commonly broadcasted, as well as personal locations. DJ Steve would have been jealous at the amount of up to date information they seemed to posses. It was a virtual highway of data, Steve would have indeed been proud, if he was still alive. I remember musing.

Suddenly, a brassy, panicked voice came blaring out on the airwaves. "This is Chuck, with Kingsley trucking, I am northbound on the Coquihala, just passed Kamloops. I have been gunning it for two days evading these fuckers. My gas has run out! And I am surrounded. God! If anyone hears this, and is in the area. I need help! Over!" Within seconds there were dozens of replies to his plead. Some asking for his specific location, others with advice. Unfortunately for poor Chuck, a few minutes later, the panic and grievous nature of his position caused him to, in a moment of terror and bad judgment, to open the door, screaming that he had to get out. His pleads ended with a strangled scream, barely discernible over a chorus of moans, only to be cut off seconds later, and replaced by a depressing silence.

"Damn." One trucker commented. "Horrible way to go." Seconds later another responded. "Yeah. People check your tanks! You can't risk being stranded, fill up at a pump that is in an isolated area as you can. Once you are dead in the water, thats when they swarm, and you are as good as dead. Over." Interesting I thought, storing away that tid-bit of information.

"Hey boys, this is Tad from Kelowna, checking in with another update. The city is lost. Repeat. The city is totally overrun." He continued, repeating the same message till another trucker cut in. " My satellite telly said a massive horde was moving up from the Vancouver area, the big group seems to move northwards when a city falls. Maybe this is the start of it?" He trailed off. Various others weighted in with their own opinions. Finally, when it begin to quiet down some, I grabbed the mike and hit the button.

"Hello. This is Ashley, coming in from Grinrod, I have a group of survivors with me. We are trying to find a safe spot, and heard tell of a experimental weather station and compound up in the mountains here. But are unsure of where. Any information as to it's location and directions would be great." I finished, adding "Over" a few seconds later as an afterthought. It didn't take long for a response to come on over the airways.

"Darling, you sound a bit young to be running the big rigs. Whats the situation?" Came a loud, gruff voice, distinctly American with a drawling Texan accent.. "I am not on the rigs, I have a CB radio from the police car I have." I replied uncertainly.

"Ha! Bet there is some story to that!" The trucker chuckled darkly. "But, darling I have a trucker friend on another channel whose bro in law was working on the construction of the station and it's compound. We were just weighing our chances of making it there. Here, switch to over to this other channel, maybe he can provide you with some directions. Over."

"Thank you so much! I exclaimed, switching to the channel he recommended. I handed over the mike to Trent, and grabbed a pen and paper pad, letting him deal with the rest. I was lousy with directions anyway. Unfolding myself from the chair, I stumbled slightly as I walked to the hood. I remember the exhaustion. I felt so entirely bone-numbingly, brain-drainingly tired, that if I had been alone I wouldn't have put it past me to simply sink down to the ground. To lay against the soggy tires and pass out. But with people with me, counting on me, and in this messed up situation, unconsciousness was not an option...more like an unheard of luxury.

"Any luck?" I called, questioning both Rachel and Dave on the progress at finding a route. "Nope, the roads, up when you hit 20 kilometers north of here, turn into logging roads, and then go off the map." He replied, looking up from the map, face scrunched in concentration. "Okay, we have a trucker on the CB radio that might have an answer. How are we doing for gas?" I asked. At his less then desirable reply I inquired if the map showed a gas station anywhere ahead.

"Yeah, a farmers-style Petrocan, about 10 kilometers ahead, I used it once to fill up my quad after mucking around on the trails in Siccamous." He thought aloud. "Awesome, how much is there in human habitation?" I inquired. I knew we needed to fill up. Maybe even nab some gas cans to fill a up some extras. But if it was a significantly habituated area, three puny weapons just weren't going to cut it. "Uh, some farms, a few houses around the station. It's a pretty wooded area, so not that much." He replied, face screwed up as he tried to recall fully.

"Good, we will stock up there." I replied. "We should check for gas cans, fill as many as we can manage. When we get there I want you and Trent to focus on that after filling the cars. Rachel and I will collect anything in the station that we can use." I continued.

Suddenly, a muffled boom, the fore-front of a descent sized explosion, rippled through the cold winter air. "Holy fuck!" I exclaimed, whirling on the spot. "What the fuck was that!" I yelled.

"Dunno." Trent responded, his grip noticeably tightening on his gun. "I hope that wasn't the gas station." Rachel said, looking mournful up the road as she shivered at Dave's side. "Yes, that would indeed fit our strain of luck wouldn't it." I muttered, squinting up the road. "Either way." I continued, cocking the shotgun nervously, "We need to find a safe house or something to spend the night. Lets keep going. We have to take the chance, we need the fuel and ammo, as much as we can get...If we can find it." I finished.

"I agree, it's getting dark." Trent said quietly. And so it was, the dieing day hued the sky above us a light, bloodied orange. And as we all went for out separate cars, I heard Rachel whisper as she passed.

"What if you are wrong?", Her words chilling and sinister in the surrounding bloody sky. Then she disappeared around the trucks side. Leaving me with nagging doubts, a sweaty chill, and nervous eyes.


	29. Chapter 29

**Authors Note:** You will probably hate me for this chapter, I am anticipating some interesting worded reviews and pm's for sure! I cannot stress enough how important it is for my writing for you to read and review, your encouragement and advice helps me to write my story. Well, enjoy, it is my longest chapter yet. (Probably my second favorite chapter too!) ENJOY.

Upon reaching the small little cluster of a town, it was immediately apparent what the cause of the explosion had been. In a field in the distance, a farmers gas cache was ablaze. The burning musk of a tractor, smashed into the front was barley visible through the billowing smoke. But, as for the cause of the collision, the evidence was missing, and the clue were invisible. In fact, the place was deserted. I remember the creeped out feeling I got from this tiny place. As if this moment had happened only minutes ago. We looked about, nothing. There was hardly a single sound, and not one movement could be seen.

I shifted my feet in unease. There wasn't even a blood stain, or an abandoned car. Nor a member of the undead, or the alive in sight. Had they all just took off? Damn, this stunk, something didn't sit right here, this situation was filling me with unease. But the facts remained, shoving aside gut-feelings with their pressing nature. We couldn't afford to run out of gas in the next ten kilometers, right in the middle of butt-fuck no where...like Chuck had.

"Okay guys, fill up, remember to fill up as many gas cans as possible. Rach, you are with me, lets clean out everything we can use." I said, still uneasy. "As fast as we can make it you guys, this places gives me the creeps." I finished.

With the boys hurriedly filling, Rachel and I inspected the attached convenience store from the outside. Nothing looked suspicious, or potentially life-threatening, but the interior was wreathed in shadows, the lights off. The door had been chained shut by a heavy-duty linked chain. I remember realizing that this most likely meant they had had some sort of warning, if they had time to prepare for trouble. Looking cautiously in through the windows I half expected for one to pop up, moaning mouths pressing across the glass. Tongues and gnashing teeth spayed across the door, held back only by the puny glass barrier.

Crap, I was as scared as shit, and now I don't mind admitting it. Most here in the Sanctuary think I am some tough shit, a hard as nails hero. Being called a hero sounds nice, but I think I would rather be one under different circumstances. I don't really even think of myself that way. I am simply the second in command of the Alpha team, or the "Untouchables" as everyone calls us. I am also a member of the Council of Elders. Who reside over the well-being of the Sanctuary. The youngest member, but one of the first as well. I guess that is something to preen about.

Kneeling, I fiddled with the chain, hoping it was only secured by a knot. We weren't that lucky of course, the chain was secured by a heavy duty padlock. "Locked?" Trent inquired, wandering over from the gas pumps. "Yeah, this lock is heavy duty, how do we get it off without a key?" I asked, tugging on the chain uselessly. Trent pulled out the gun, "Stand back." He commanded, then shot at the lock. It took two tries but finally the chain clinked loudly as it unwinded from the handles, falling loudly to the ground.

"That would do it. Nicely done." I praised. He only smiled and turned back to filling the cruiser, even then, I couldn't help noticing that his smile didn't touch his eyes, it was forced. But more pressing matters were at hand, as well, what business did I have, imposing on other peoples grief ?

Cautiously, I nudged open the door with my foot. Part of me couldn't believe I was doing this, leading the way into a possibly undead hell! Me? The proverbial wuss of the century?! But, regardless, we needed to do this. So I squared my shoulders, breathed in a deep and unsteady breath, then shouldered my way in, Rachel following close behind.

The place looked deserted, and surprisingly picked over. It seemed as though the owner has the same idea we had, and had stocked up on supplies before closing. Once the interior had been cleared we moved on, approaching the store room and bathrooms. Finding no switch for the storeroom, we decided to simply lock the door from the outside. No need to disturb something we need not have to. We decided as well, to leave the metal doored bathrooms, the prospect of flinging open those heavy doors seemed too daunting to even consider in the gloom of the shadowy store.

"Okay, remember, anything we can use." I half whispered to the small woman at my side. "I know." She said, her voice as small and as uncertain as my own, but her face was determined, set in a grim expression. I nodded, and she started off, slowly, down the drink cooler aisle. Splitting off, I quickly found the gas cans, five left. I met the twins at the door, handing them the cans as I made two trips to ferry them out.

"How does it look?" I asked, quickly scanning small portion of road I could see from the stations window. "Clear, for the moment. When we were filling we heard a car reeving. There are people here." Dave said quietly, casting a quick look over his shoulder. "That means they might be here." I said darkly. I looked around, once more suspicious of every shadow. Every darkened corner, or shaded bush was potentially a danger.

"Can you help Rachel with the rest? I questioned. "I'll take watch." "Sure." He replied, hurrying inside as Trent loaded up the now full jerry cans.

Quickly, I strode across the lot. Looking about the area I took in the surroundings. The gas station seemed to be the center to this tiny community. A few independently owned stores dotted the barren streets. Farms, squatting like overseers over the long, rolling fields at their front, the shadows seemed to roll and grow in their presence. I hoped there were more houses. Closer and more secluded then these farms. We needed somewhere safe to settle tonight.

The sputtering starting roar of an engine startled me, shattering the overwhelming silence. Turning, I attempted to define it's location. Behind the tree's? Or up the street and around the corner? Friend or foe? Unconsciously, I remember backing up. One foot slowly sliding behind, dragging in the wet snow, and then feeling it's moisture seep slowly into my runners.

With a sliding screech, and a purring roaring, a motorcycle barreled around the corner. I almost dropped the shotgun in alarm. The largest man I had ever seen in all my twenty years, was perched on the tiny seat. Even then, in the mists of the situation, I remember cursing in surprise. But, before I could so much as absorb this sight, the chasing undead stumbled into view, grasping fingers scrabbling at the retreating back licenses plates in their frenzy.

Without thinking, I dropped to my knees in the slushy snow, using a garbage can as a level aiming surface. The motorcycle raced towards me, the giants coat billowing in the wind. One of the two, in a red-checkered lumberjack jacket lurched forward, teeth snapping on air, millimeters from where the streaming jacket had been.

Sighting, my vision tunneled through the sight. Perfect. A blasting shot and the zombie crumpled. Sliding to a slow stop in the snow, hands still stretched forward in anticipation. If I had had the time I might have let loose a victory yell at the accomplishment, it was a forehead shot, almost dead center. The other didn't even bat an eye, in fact, his companions demise seemed to only arose his hunger to new heights. And seconds later he too lunged forward in a spread-eagled leap, taking down the biker in a strangle hold. The pair went down with a sickening thud. The bike metalically screeching in protest as it thudded and slid at their heels. I could literally hear the ripping cloth and pained grunts as the falls momentum slid the mammoth man across the pavement, coming to rest some meters from me, the zombie sprawled on top. A sick parody of a lovers embrace.

The fiend, momentarily stunned, shook itself much like a wet dog might to dry it's fur, casting it's dead eyes about itself in apparent confusion. But as the man began to struggle beneath it, I swear I saw it's empty, milky eyes sharpen. Lunging downwards its teeth snapped, trying to lay open it's victims throat. With a strangled roar, the giant-like man held it;s arms, keeping it's evil mouth, and hands just out of reach as the creature bucked and lunged on top of him.

"Don't MOVE!" I screamed as I stumbled forward, letting off a quick shot, no effect, I missed. They tumbled about the snowy street, the snow pink with blood. "Shit!" STOP MOVING!" I shrieked, dodging this way and that about them, trying to get a clear shot of the beast on top him. If I couldn't get a safe shot, I might just have to risk it, but if I hit him, this would all be for nothing.

Finally, the giant rolled them back forward, his teeth pulled back in a grimace, the muscles straining and bulging at his neck. A single ropy strand of drool hung from the fiends disgusting open mouth, swinging with ferocity of it's attempts.

This was it, that perfect moment Dan had spoken of, as we had perched on the roof top, surveying the small crowd of undead. Had that only really been yesterday? I squeezed the trigger, a clear shot. And I remember, I remember so very clearly the sound. Today, this sound is usually a death sentence, the bell tolling before the end. A metallic click. Empty. I blinked, staring at the hole that should have formed, for the drip of blood and the fleshy sound of a falling body. But it didn't come. The fiend still growled, squirming in the tight grasp of it's prey.

No bullets. I slapped my pant pockets. Nothing. I had forgotten to fill my pockets with spare shotgun ammo...

Damn, even remembering this moment, years later still makes me cringe. It was such a terrible mistake to make. Potentially deadly to you and your companions. In a team, everyone depends on the other, the Buddy system. So there is always a backup, always a Plan B. But of course, that was then.

I stood, struck dumb by this new development, the gun hanging uselessly in my hands, vaguely I could hear yelling at my back, incomprehensible shouts as the wind picked up and flung the words away. Groaning, the giant still struggled. Even with his tremendous size and bulk, he was only holding even. Howling and snapping like some sort of deranged dog, his attacker too still slavered at his throat, so intent on it's treasure, that I reminded unnoticed.

"Oh god. Please. No like this..No..." Came a rasping prayer, cracking with the strain as those grim teeth lowered further still. The sliding sound of fabric, and the grating sound of skin scraping on the pavement echoed in my ears. Another sound, muted, but close resounded in my ears, making me look up from the grim match at my feet. Little fists banged on the glass doors of the hardware store across the street. Small fingers curled into balled fists in their rage. A curly brown head banging furiously at the unrelenting glass. Baby teeth shone in the pre-dusk light.

This was one of the few moments in my life that despair came over me. The world at that moment seemed to compress together, and amass all it's worldly forces to crash down at my feet. The world was broken. Humanity as we knew it was finished. Even mankind's survival as a race hung in a delicate balance. Were all these millennial of evolution, knowledge, and growing for nothing? To be wiped out entirely by a rising wave of primitive cannibalistic freaks? A disease? Had humanity created it's own destruction? Was this evil going to overpower all ? Would the world lose this battle? Just like the giant was losing his?

How had it come to this? I wondered why we fought. Why didn't I just lay down my gun and await my fate? Why did this man at my feet not release of undead's arms and meet his demise? Why?

Then it hit me. It hit me as violently and as boldly as though someone had doused me in freezing water. For **hope**. It was what Dan had fought for...died for! It was in this man, he fought on for the hope of life. To live! To keep a hold of those precious seconds, collecting and living out every minute of every one. The hope of life! Then, the hope of something better.

How selfish was I! To rob myself and others of such a precious thing? Life was worth dieing for, trying for. Hope.

To find the faith to go on again, is a very liberating experience. I reckoned this was what every solider, fighter, or person in the history of this earth had felt, once they came upon the reason they took courage, and stood up to fight for what they believed in. I could almost see them, a massive army at my side, heads held high, faces bright, and accepting of their fate. But bold, ever so bold, as they stood in the face of all they feared, and prepared to fight it with every last bit of blood in their veins.

They, those evil ones, were not going to take from me, nor from anyone I could help, what they took from my family. My sister, my friends, my co-workers, and everyone of their victims!

And with that last thought, ringing clear and brazen in my mind. I stepped forward, yelling at the top of my lungs. Both looked, turning together almost comically. The hell-beast hesitated, and that hesitation was my opening. I burst forward, screaming (as I was later told, like some half crazed viking) and swung the shotgun back by it's barrel, completing a spinning lunge as I brought the weapon down across it's head, swinging like one would a baseball bat. It connected with the fiend full in the face, a sickening crunch followed the swing.

The blow jarred my arms painfully, I felt the shock tremors racing up my arms. The zombie toppled over, propelled over the man's body. But still it squirmed about, crab-like on the wet, soggy pavement. Pausing only for second, I jumped over the prone mans form, looming over the beast. And as I brought the butt down, dead milky eyes met mine, and just for a second, before the blow struck home, I swore I saw a flicker of emotion race across them. Rage? Fear? Apperication? I suppose I wasn't destined to know. An echoing crack resounded in the empty streets, even the tiny fists paused their unrelenting rhythm, as if listening.

I spared only a quick glance at the beast, to confirm it's demise, before turning to the man whose ass I had just saved. He was a mess, the coat he wore was shredded, ripped to the point were the stuffing spilled out. The coats original light green color was seeped with blood. There were patches in his coat where the coat had been shorn entirely away, and bloody raw skin was revealed. The blood was an angry red, oozing in tiny streams, flowing independently down his body, sometimes connecting into a bigger flow, only to break off again somewhere past the neck, dribbling past the collarbone. Even his face, on the right side was deeply scraped, I gagged slightly as the sight reminded me of raw hamburger.

Kneeling, I noticed his chest had not risen. "Shit." I remember whispering. I save the guy only for him to cough it now? Carefully, I laid my head at his broad chest, listening. There was a steady heart beat. Looking up, my eyes searched his injured face, I saw his eyelids flutter, I grasped his forearms, about to shake him. We needed to get him out of the street, it wasn't safe.

But suddenly, the world flipped upside down as I found myself flung in the air, clouted hard on the head. I landed roughly a few feet away, sprawled hard on the pavement, gun skittering away. The blow caused bright spots to flash in my vision, blinding me as they sparkled. My head felt like it had gotten split in half. Dizzy, I stumbled blindly to my feet, trying to compensate as the world swayed and dipped around me. I had the most particular feeling, like I wasn't entirely sure which was was up. Movement was like swimming through a vat of runny molasses.

But out of sheer fear and confusion at what was happening I swayed to my feet, and held my balance. I heard my friends yelling my name, but they were drowned out by a primal, brazen roar, rageful and defiant. Turning towards the noise, a dark shape loomed, seeming to sprout from the very ground at my feet. Then fingers, stronger then steel and bigger then two of my own wrapped about my neck.

Gasping, I choked, spluttering for breath as the fingers tightened, strangling the very life from my veins, and the breath from my lungs. Desperately, but viciously I fought, a pathetic defense, but it was all I had left to me now. I pounded blows, kicked, and scratched at those tree-trunk arms, but they remained unrelenting, their grip unmerciful.

Despite my efforts blackness seeped in, veiling my sight. Bright bursts of flashing lights lit the oncoming darkness of my mind. My hands slowed, finger nails brushing the armed prison as they slid down to fall at my sides. Feet fell limp as my legs could kick no more, bending on the pavement in a useless heap.

And as my body shut down inside I turned my face and stared. I stared into the face of my killer. Dark green and brown flecked eyes focused on my own, widening. The face changed, but I found myself unable to recognize the expression, everything was confused. Then, darkness took me, and I was spiraling downward, with death gliding silently at my side.


	30. Chapter 30

**Authors Note:** Whoa! Chapter 30! How did this happen!?

I knew nothing for a long time, darkness had finally over taken me, and in my peril and sickness I had let it take me on further, sinking deeper into it's warm, welcoming depths. I remember bits of awareness, where sound was skewed and sight was fleeting. I remembered burning snow, laying in the cold wetness, in snow that should have chilled me, but instead, it burned me. Bubbling and boiling straight into my insides, twisting my body into knots of heat and confusion. Then, grasping hands and blurred faces reached for me, mangled murmurs echoed in my ears, and then everything faded to nothingness again.

Time seemed to have no hold here, in this place between consciousness and oblivion. Later, or maybe minutes..maybe even hours later, I couldn't tell. I found myself stirring, I cracked open a heavy lid, the opposing wall of a bathtub met my eyes. The facet gushing water at my feet, as my body leeched red and black into the pristine liquid. My eyes lingered on the falling water, it raced from the facet, but I could not hear it's roar.

My head lolled downwards, I was so weak. I noticed, without much surprise, nor interest, that I lay naked in the tub. Only a bra and underpants hid my nakedness, but what fully caught my eye was the red hued water that swirled around me as the water rose, and the unrelenting burning that enveloped my senses. For a quick moment I wondered why someone would color the water, then reality hit and I watched as the water lapped at my bloody skin, some dried, slowly sloughing away by the gently lapping waters. Others still stinging and weeping their crimson tears. I watched as rivulets of dark red wound their way down my arm dropping down into the tub beside me, a slow drip. The last moments of this half forgotten memory ended with the door at the right of the tub creaking open, a slender hand curling around the wood, pushing it open. Then it was back again into the all encompassing darkness.

When I finally came back to consciousness again, I fought to keep myself afloat, a nagging feeling of unease kept my mind from drifting back into the peaceful oblivion of nirvana. Soon, awareness returned, like a computer starting up, things seemed to materialize again into my brain as my senses focused. The hum of appliances whirled in the background, and hushed voices were muffled by a closed door, a band of bright light peeked out from underneath it. I was laid out on a fold out bed. I guessed, in what was a guest room. Groaning I slid out from under a pile of strange smelling blankets, strangers laundry detergent, it always put me out of my comfort zone. I slowly placed my feet on the floor, bruised toes wiggled back at me. But they were clean bruised toes! Clean!

I breathed in deep, then immediately wished I hadn't. The bruising, aching pain overwhelmed me for a moment, so intense was it's feeling. Looking to my right, I caught sight of my reflection in the mirror. I watched as my mouth opened in surprise. The face that looked back at me was one which I hardly recognized. The face, now clean and carefully scrubbed of dried blood, dirt, and grime told of nothing but living through hell and back. Blackened, ugly bruises tinged an angry purple and green splotched my face. Continuing down it trailed to my neck where a concentrated mass about the neck glared out, still an angry vibrant black and puffy red. My face was speckled by numerous cuts, scrapes, gashes. The bandages Dan had wrapped about my head were gone, revealing nasty healing cuts. Rising up, I slowly walked to the mirror, my steps unsteady, but firm. I winced as another twinge of pain screamed up my skin, pulsing hotly for attention. Looking down I lifted an unfamiliarly garbed arm, a rusty red sweater. As I lifted up the slightly ragged hem, I sucked up my breath in alarm. Not only did the bruises mass around my neck, but on both sides of my chest, small black bruises the side of a hand print colored my already grim tapestry of a form.

There was something else to. Something more then what was different on the surface. I knew as I gently prodded a swollen lump on my elbow, I knew it was more than the strange, massive clothes that I had to hold to keep them from slipping off my form. More then the bruises, the scrapes, and the cuts. It was something under the surface, elusive, but still present. Maybe it was something connected with the fact that I didn't pause to inspect my complexion, how I didn't bother to fix my hair, nor determine how horrendous the outfit I wore made me look.

At the time I didn't recognize it, I hadn't seen enough yet. But it was there, staring back at me though red, tired eyes. It is the look of every man, woman, and child who lived through the infestation. Everyone who remembers what it was like before THEY came. Before they obliterated everything we created, took away everything we loved, enjoyed, and cherished! Before they took away our WORLD!

Sighing, I hoisted up the massive sweatpants and made my way to the door, mind whirling with unanswered questions. To make a long story mercifully short, my emergence from the room of my seclusion caused my friends great happiness. My near death, well, I guess I should say, first near death accident, coupled with my exhaustion, and snow exposure had resulted in a high fever. The portions I remember, such as the time in the tub had been attempts to lower my high temperature. I had been like that for three whole days.

I remember my shock and dismay, three precious days! 72 hours of time, wasted! In my minds eye I imagined the hordes of undead exploding in size, converging on our location in unimaginable numbers. I remember developing a cold sweat at the very thought. My friends though, were quick to fill me in. From what they had gleaned from the TV, radio, and Internet, the undead numbers had indeed multiplied across North America. They showed me papers they had made, showing crossed out "X" on each Canadian province, and American state, showing those which had been determined "lost" by CNN and CTV news stations.

I shuddered as I saw each thick red "X". The pen, so thick on the space that it seemed to obliterate the whole state, or province entirely. The USA had lost all of the lower states on the last report. But the latest satellite pictures showed a massive rolling tide, a horde, moving up from the lower states, following the trail to life as they left behind only eternal death in their bloodthirsty wake. Canada was in better shape, but not by much. All the lower half's of the provinces that stood on the USA state line were suffering from a massive concentration of the fuckers. We quite literally had not a day to loose! With each passing hour, more and more became infected, and with that their numbers grew.

Sinking into a free kitchen chair, I joined the others at the table. Contemplatively I nursed a mug of Earl gray tea that Dave had thoughtfully plunked in front of me. He pulled up a chair, intent on filling me in, and Trent and Rachel nudged their chairs in closer. All three faces were mirrors of nervousness and tension. It was no wonder, with me sick, and leaving them with nothing but these terrible statistics for three whole days.

"Okay." I said, letting myself get accustomed to everything again. "Whats the situation around town?" I asked, wondering how hard it was going be to fight our way back to the road. "Not a big increase/" Trent replied wearily, "There should be no big problem getting out at the moment. I don't think they know we are here yet."

"Good! We have lost enough time as it is. You know..." I began, half joking. "You could have just dumped me in the back seat and kept going." I said with a grin, eying the trio before me over the steaming rim of my mug. All three exchanged a glance, before Rachel turned and made to speak. "Mike insisted that it wasn't a good idea to leave till your fever went down." She began, looking down as she inspected a spot on her glasses. "Who's Mike?" I inquired, a slight frown puckering my forehead. I remember being half perturbed and half curious about this apparent newcomer. When had we gained another survivor anyway? I thought. 

"Yeah, he is down stairs gathering some supplies to load for when we leave." She said, pausing uncomfortably. Something was bothering her. With Rachel, I could almost always tell. It wasn't in the face, it was the words and tone you had to watch with her. "Ash,...Ash. He is really sorry. Talks about it all the time...He didn't mean it, he didn't mean to, he wasn't himself I think." She trailed off, her voice earnest.

"Mean what?" I asked confused, edging on becoming slightly wary. "What is going on guys?" I was getting ticked, fear was spiking slightly, I felt like the climatic music from "Jaws" should be playing. I didn't have time for this bullshit.

"Well, when..." Dave began, seeming to fish for the right words. But as abruptly as he started, he faded away as loud echoing footsteps resounded from down the hall...


	31. Chapter 31

**-All Standard and Previously stated retarded and repetitive disclaimers apply. AKA. Don't be naughty!**

**Reviews:** Please and Thank you. As many have said, it means a lot, not only to my ego, but it truly helps me improve my writing skills.

**Chapter 31 – Of Mighty Thor**

I was apprehensive despite myself, and watched to my horror as my mug on the table shook slightly. Seconds later the door swung lightly open. Trunk sized legs met my gaze, drawing my eyes upwards. My lungs tightened as my eyes climbed, meeting a massive torso, cut up arms, scratched with long nail shaped furors. Then up a partially bandaged face, till I finally met his intensely green eyes.

Shit. I knew those eyes. I shot to my feet, fists clenched as memories came rushing back. A massive man, fleeing on a motorcycle, cold snow...burning snow. Pictures raced through my mind, half-forgotten feelings and images all vying for attention at once. The chasing undead. Falling. A red-checkered shirt, a spray of blood. Empty eyes. No ammo, done. A crazed yell, then a horrible echoing crunch. Empty eyes...dead eyes.

Then, pressure! I couldn't breathe! I was lifted off the ground in a choke hold. Dimming eyes, dimming life. Losing light, losing life. My life draining away because of a giant green-eyed man. The blood pounded in my ears as he cautiously stepped forward, his massive arms raised, attempting a placating gesture of peace. Gesturing for peace with the very hands of violence? But, what stilled my feet, and paused my flight, was the sorrow and grief that stood out on his face, prematurely lining his peasant features. His eyes searching, seemingly tiring to bore their emotion into my very soul. He shook his bandaged face sadly, when he stepped forward, and I immediately stumbled back. Instead, he looked uneasy, and finally spoke. "May I speak with you?" He rumbled quietly.

A small part of me wanted to laugh hysterically at the situation, but yet another wanted to hurl my tea at him and bolt. But still another screamed caution, and I had to struggle not to move back again. I wanted to disappear into the floor, anything! Anything as long as it was away from this situation. Instead, I surprised myself by agreeing with a quick, shallow nod of my head. And again to my surprise, his lips turned up into a relieved smile and he moved towards the door, somehow twitching his massive form to fit through the small doorway.

Pausing, I looked back at my friends, my heart feeling less like it might burst when Dave and Rachel smiled back encouragingly, Trent only rubbed at his weary eyes, red-rimmed with exhaustion as he outlined a trailing in florescent orange, the instructions and routes we needed to take to get to the weather station. 'Well, at least SOMETHING is going right I thought, smiling grimly.

As the door closed behind us. I leaned on the wall, arms across my chest, attempting to feign confidence, and calm. A mere facade, as I certainly quaked inside. But, the man the tower over me seemed surprisingly uneasy, shifting his feet, his eyes were nervous, switching from the wall to my face. Then flicking at an imaginary offending piece of lint, then back to my face once more.

"I owe you an apology." He began. "i am not that good with apologies, God knows I make more then my share of mistakes, but sorrys are something I always get tongue tired on. So, I am going to try my best." As he paused for breath, I noticed his eyes were gentle, not crushing, or boring into me, but calming, passive. Something that I least expected from this intimidating looking giant.

"When you saved me, I was out of my head. I saw you with that rifle, and knew their was someone trying to help. But then, I think my fall jumbled things up. And just before that thing ... him...it.. would have got me, there was this yell, never heard the like of it before, but then before I lost unconsciousness, It was as though s fiend from hell had been loosed, and something flew over me. When I woke back up, you, you were kneeling over me, and, well, I don't mean this in a bad way missy, but with all your injuries, and bloody clothes, I thought you were, well, one of THEM." He trailed off, briefly wincing, then looking at me imploringly. I struggled to maintain eye contact, as much as I wished to look away. "I am, so, so sorry. I only just realized right in time. As it was I had to get your heart going again..." He almost whispered, his eyes now downcast, following the movement of my arms as they moved, my palms unconsciously covering the twin bruises on my chest.

"Yes..I am sorry. I have a strong grip." He sighed. I silently agreed, remembering the titanic pressure about my throat. "I feel like such an git. You risked a lot of save my ass..save a total stranger. And look how I repaid you..." He said, gesturing to my bruised neck.

"God...When did everything become so screwed up." He muttered, casting his eyes towards the ceiling. "Look..I don't presume to simply ... ah. Fuck." He cursed, under his breath. I couldn't help myself, and a smile broke out on my lips. It was like watching a boy, who had never asked out a girl, out, without any forethought. I almost laughed at it all. He blew out air in frustration before continuing again. "God, just damn. Your friends told me about you. Your story, I have to admit I am impressed. Surviving on your own, then coming to get your small friend in there." He said, gesturing a meaty index finger towards the kitchen door. "And this plan of yours...I mean, well." He trailed off, eyes gazing intently into my own, as though looking for something, something that I was quite sure wasn't there.

I looked boldly back at him. The poor guy. I prided myself at being a fairly good reader of people, and what they are truly like...what is in their heart. Every man, every person has their price, and they all too have their own breaking point. This man, from all that I could define was genuine.

"Sorry...I." He began again. But I raised a hand and he fall immediately silent. This hulk of a man was truly a gentle giant. I cleared by lungs, and looked him over. "Well, Mike." I began. "I can't deny that our first meeting was less then ideal. But, honestly, you have nothing to apologize for. Though I greatly thank you for the sentiment. You were fighting for your life, and in the state you were in, anyone could of done the same."

"But I.." He began, but I overrode him, continuing to voice my thoughts. "From what little I know of you, Mike, you have shown yourself to be not only a survivor, but a kind person. You saved me, and got us to your house. If you wish to join us, you would be more then welcome." I paused, taking in his slightly shocked expression before continuing. "You know our plan, but I must warn you. You know where we are going, and why, therefore you know the importance of this, every hour the passes, more of those things there are. You know what happens when you are bitten or scratched Mike? Even the smallest graze, or the smallest tooth puncture?" I asked, my hands at my hips, neck craned upwards. I was slightly surprised by the change in my tone, it was slightly harsh and accusing, I wasn't sure why, but I refused to re-think my statement and start again.

"Yes." He said, nodding in affirmation. "I saw the news casts, they figured it out around the second, or third day." He finished. "Well, I found out personally. And I ...we..lost someone. If you are bitten or scratched, you are as good as dead. You have minutes...hours, maybe days. Dan had days...If you are bitten, the best I can promise you is a quick death. Believe me it is better then the alternative. The safely of everyone depends in the implicit trust we have with each other... If this is something that you are okay with..." I finished, deliberately trailing off and fixing him, with what I hoped was a deep and intimidating state. His face had remained impassive throughout my speech, so it was difficult to define what he was thinking. I remember hoping that I hadn't come across sounding like a cold-hearted bitch, but I had felt so driven, to fully explain our situation, the situation thrust upon us.

Suddenly, a smile broke over his face. It reminded me of sunlight, chasing away the remnant of a thunder storm. He extended a mammoth paw, callous from hard labor, but delicate and gentle as I placed m own in it, pausing for hardly a moment.

I couldn't help thinking, even then, that was beginning a momentous friendship. We shook hard, a firm handshake, and I mirrored in grin.

Meeting my eyes once again, he fixed me with a twinkling eye, and over our entwined hands, he winked and said,

"Call me Thor."


	32. Chapter 32

**-All Standard and Previously stated retarded and repetitive disclaimers apply. AKA. Don't be naughty!**

**Reviews:** Please and Thank you. As many have said, it means a lot, not only to my ego, but it truly helps me improve my writing skills.

**A/N:** Sorry about the last chapter (31) I posted it this morning, spell checking it while waking up and rushing around for work. In retrospect, it wasn't the most brilliant of moves. So, sorry about the typo's!

It is at this point in my story that I can't help but lean back at my desk and think back in wonder. It is truly hard to fathom that all this happened less then two and a half years ago...Two and a half years ago, my life went to hell and back. I like to think of that in a pretty literal sense. In only two years I went from living in a world where luxury and convenience were possible with a paycheck. Now everything is free, but it usually comes with the price of human life. Your friends life, your own life..All for some canned soup or bedding.

The world now is dangerous, unstable, and uncertain. No longer do we have the freedom to be free to feel protected if we wander outside the Sanctuary stretching concrete embrace. No long can the children explore the forests and playgrounds of the world, playing on the slides, climbing the trees, or making forts out of fallen branches and twigs. Lovers can no longer walk hand in hand down the streets, windowing shopping, or to grab a coffee, served in sugar rimmed glasses...sipping them as they might discuss politics, or current events. Essentially, today, your American Constitution mean shit. And our protection acts mean dick. It's simple, kill or be killed. We are not free anymore. And for our safety we have to give up our freedom and be caged.

Depressing? Yes. Needed, and therefore necessary? Well, in my opinion? Yes. But then again, thats just me.

Since we made it here, and created the sanctuary, we have unfortunately has a few suicides. It's normal, some people just can't take it anymore. Something just breaks inside them and they go downhill. In my old life I used to pity those who felt that something as precious as their own life wasn't worth keeping. But as much a I pitied them, a small distant part of me still held, in spite of my tolerance and respect for others, an underlying feeling on disgust at their weakness.

I suppose now, my feelings have changed. Well, to be honest to myself, they have changed. And now, the thought of taking my own life doesn't seem so unreasonable. I am can't say the thought hasn't ever crossed my mind, at the worst of times. Hell. There was one time I thought I was a goner. It was a raid gone sour. Ben had dropped the rig keys. We had found a semi off Highway 95, close to Chase. We were in a bind, in unfamiliar territory, on the highway, and we had lost contact with the Beta team. We had gotten separated from the rig and were in deep shit. It was a damn fool thing to do, but I dived for the falling keys, loosing my balance and falling off the higher safety of the abandoned truck we had climbed on to escape the undead group that had scented us. They were highway roamers. Probably the original owners of the blood stained vehicles around us. Ben screamed at me to forget them, and out of the corner of my eye, I watched as he lunged for me. But he was too late, and I slipped out of his grasp, crashing to the pavement below with a metallic crunch. My gear digging into my chest and stomach. Stunned, I stumbled to my feet, trying in vain to clear my confused brain.

Looking up I watched as Ben's mouth worked as he looked down at me, screaming words that sounded garbled and strange to my ears. Over the ringing in my head, all that I could hear was his voice, ridiculously deep and slow. I shook my head violently, trying in vain to clear my head. But however incomprehensible his words were, his actions and expressions were as clear as crystal. I was in deep fucking, shit.

As he began firing over my shoulder, my head clear, it was as if a very low fuzzy radio had been returned and cracked up to max. Overwhelmed by the sound I whirled around clumsily, and then, I knew why Ben still screamed.

I had only seconds, there was no time to thing, no time to shoot, and certainly no time to grab for his outstretched hand, ready to pull my from this canyon of abandoned cats, scattered, smashed, and bloodstained reminder of humanities last mass hope...The highway's.

What mankind had figured would be their best route of escape, had turned on them, and become their greatest trap. They had gotten caught behind a massive grid-lock. Everyone had tried to leave at once. As the hordes, and even the single infected demons moved on, people abandoned their cars, or died inside them. Either way, it effectively trapped those behind them, leaving them to their grim fate. A literal highway buffet.

So, as I was explaining, I only had mere moments, and those actions in those few precious seconds would decide the future of my life. Life, or living death. But, my luck was with me, and the first thing my searching eyes fell upon was an abandoned SUV, the navy blue color glinting with the glare of the midday sun, and miracles be praised, the passenger side door was flung open.

Turning, I sprinted the last couple of feet, and all but hurled myself inside. My momentum carrying me through, thudding me into the opposing door. With the undead, literally nipping at my heels, I scrambled to close the door, as they began to cling to it, curling their searching hands inside. Their fingers scurrying about, like pale white spiders.

For a few heart-stopping moments we wrestled, their moans triumphant, jowls slavering. My grunts of exertion and unsteady breathing. Finally, one of Ben;s shots found their mark, and a zombie fell forward, it's momentum aiding me, and with his weight and my pull I managed to slam the door shut.

My heart pulsed in my chest, feeling so tight that it felt ready to burst forth from my very body. I slumpt back against the oppose door. My zombies however, were not amused and beat on the window, faces squished into the glass moaning an groaning their never ending chorus. Squirming about I leaned into the front seat. No keys. Damn. Worst of all was the Ben had disappeared from the top of the truck and nor could I hear his shouts or gunshots. Sickening fear threatened to overtake my mind, but other problems, more pressing in their urgency flooded in, drowning the fear till the roar turned into a weak cry, echoing in the back of my mind.

The undead were in a frenzy, and the glass already had began to crack. Cursing fit to make most of the guys at home proud, I moved to the other side, cocking and reloading my handgun. I remember wishing I had brought Dan's shotgun, it had never let me fail. It was like ...like a lucky charm of sorts, I now I didn't have it. Lovely.

Suddenly, the crowd intensified around the car, spreading to the windows, pounding and leering at with with milky eyes. When the window finally smashed, I screamed in fear, the shards buckled in, crumpling inwards, dotting my brown cargoes. But I was ready. They reached in, arms waving, heads poking in, jousting and fighting with the others to fit in first. As each face appeared, my gun fired, blowing each away in a splashing fountain of crimson. But as I knew, the crowd was too large, too heavy, and they began squirming in as the other windows buckled and began to break. Their probing fingers gripped at my shoes, slowly questing upwards, seeming not to notice when I kicked them away. I shot again and again, but for every mangled face that exploded and fell away, two more pressed in to fill the gap.

Like any bad horror movie, the most unfortunate cliché occurred. The empty click of the barrel, and now, the necessity of having to reload while fumbling with my ammo bag. I screamed in horror as strong fingers wrapped around me as a particularly adventurous beast grabbed at my leg. Causing me to shout out in alarm. And as he lowered his mouth in for his first taste, I swung the pistol around, catching him square on the temple, and he tumbled out of sight.

As I turned once again to fumble with the ammo, the window behind be finally burst open and a sea of hands snaked through. I still shudder at the memory of their clammy, crab-like fingers. Their hands griping my hair, shoulders, my shirts, pants, and shoes. I hurled myself away, screaming...shrieking at the top of my lungs. I can honestly say I had never been so terrified in my life, which is saying something nowadays. But no matter how strongly I struggled those dead hands pulled me back again, and again.

With all the fumbling force I could muster I lashed out violently with my gun, and kicked out with my legs. My fools luck held and the closest fell away. Loosing their balance and falling back into the crowd of their fellows.

I am going to have to pause this monologue for the time being. Myself and the rest of the Untouchables are leaving the Sanctuary for a short time. We need to travel farther out then we have ever before for supplies. We are dangerously low in ammunition and firearms. Our family has grown, and we are in need for more, for the new bodies. Rachel told me to grab her "Blood Diamond" in DVD in I see it, so hopefully I will be lucky. So, till the time in which I return...


	33. Chapter 33

**-All Standard and Previously stated retarded and repetitive disclaimers apply. AKA. Don't be naughty!**

**Reviews:** Please and Thank you. As many have said, it means a lot, not only to my ego, but it truly helps me improve my writing skills.

**A/N:** In the first paragraph of this chapter, I am attempting to do something different in regards to how YOU read the passage, please let me know what you think, or if you gave it a second thought at all.

Well, I have returned from our marvelous adventure. We are all stocked up, we lost a few, but unfortunately, turning back would have meant too big of a sacrifice for the community. But the trip was not without it's success, not only did we obtain our main objectives, but we also located a new group of survivors. They are well set up in a three floor apartment complex in Surrey. We were absolutely amazed at their courage and determination. They cleaned out the place from top to bottom, bricking up the bottom floor, so there is no chance of them breaking in from the bottom entrance. Instead, they have their vehicles pulled to the sides of the buildings, next to the fire escapes, and they come and go that way. Genius, if not slightly inconvenient. They are only one of the few decent lots we have found in our area. We set them up with a CB radio and now we keep in touch, we plan to bring a trading team in, next fall I would think. They have stockpiled an impressive amount of items. Many of which, we have found hard, and very dangerous to locate ourselves. As it was, when we gave them our spare unit, in gratitude, they gave us half a dozen homemade quits. It was such a treat, I met the woman who made it. Before the infestation she was a recent immigrant from Vietnam, and had worked as a Seamstress of sorts. A shy little thing, but damn was it nice to have some homemade things, reminded me of my grandmothers home.

But, I could write about our trip till my hands withered off, so I will continue with the story, there is a time and place for everything.

I can't really do justice to the feelings and reactions my body experienced. But the best way I can describe it is to get you, as the reader to imagine you have, and are still running. Running because your life is hanging in the balance. Imagine the burning in your lungs. That searing acidic ache. You gasp for air, but nothing quite satisfies your starved lungs. Imagine the shooting pain of your over extorted muscles. Your heart beats so loud and you hard that it echo's in your ears. You brain is limited, thought processes are degraded to the most simple functions, slow. Run, breathe, run-run, fast, exhale, fear, fear, trapped, stop, breathe, run, dodge, exhale. Live, fear, help.

But, that last ditch effort had given me the time I needed to reload. I cannot believe that I actually managed to reload at all, with my fingers shaking like they were, but as those icy fingers grasp at my flesh once again, I turned the barrel on them again. But, the horde did not thin, I fired and fired but nothing seemed to daunt them. And when the SUV's rear window shattered in on me, and they wormed their sinister way inside. I knew it was all over for me. I didn't even have a moment to romanticize over my death, because my end was already tolling.

But there was one thing I knew without thinking, I did not want to die like that, and I'd be damned if I would become like those things. So, instead of turning the pistol against the beasts that were moving once again to grasp me, I shoved the cool steel to my temple. And with that, I closed my eyes to the horror that surrounded me, away from the jaws about to sink into my flesh. I remembered hoping the bastards would choke.

But as you all know, since I am here writing this today, that I did not die that day. It was damn close though, the gun was cocked and everything. No, something made me open my eyes, and just as I went to end it all for good, a flash of blue caught my eye. It was that red Hemi ball cap Bill used to wear, before he died. Funny, I would have put him down as a camo man, being military and all. But, I digress. In that moment, I saw his rifle raise, and I yanked the gun away from my temple, and began to fight again. The bloody calvary was here.

When we had killed them all, I dripped of blood and brain matter. I was shell shocked and numb. And even though there was none left, my brain still hadn't clicked, and my frenzied fingers, shaking, and jerking, still tried to reload. Bullets rolled from my fingers, mingling with the blood that tickled down from my wound, later I was told I had been clipped on the shoulder by a wayward bullet, just a graze, but I bled like a gutted pig. But I wasn't there, it was like my mind had retreated, and a tiny part of my brain was left trying to pick up the slack.

Then, Thor was there. He smashed away the door, murmuring to me, and with a gentleness that masked his brute strength, he picked me up, holding me close to his chest, like a father might his new born child, and brought me away. Away from the blood soaked car, away from my moral failure. I had lost hope, I had almost done the thing that I had so despised others for doing. For taking away the most precious gift of all, life.

Thor carried me back to the semi, ignoring my feeble protests. We had rules to follow, protocol to stick to. I needed to be checked for infection. But my weak demands fell on ignoring ears. Though weak, I attempted to insist, tugging on his massive forearms, and dirty gray shirt, but he would have none of it. Ignoring me, and the others who had collected themselves enough to recall the standard procedure of checking for infection on a compromised team member. I knew it well, after all, I had been the one to create it. Finally, once we fell away from the others, I let my brave facade crumble, turning my head into the comforting safety of Thor's chest, and I soaked his shirt with my grief, till unconscious took me, into it's comforting black embrace, as I felt the last tear, trailing down my cheek.

So, like I said, I know what it is like to make that decision, knowingly and ready to pull back that trigger. I was there and it was far from easy. It was, without a doubt, one of the hardest decisions I have ever had to make in my life.

Suicide by lack of choice...I wonder if that means that I'll go to hell at the end of my days? I hope to God not. I hope for some peace after death, thats what keeps me going. What keeps me sane from raid to raid. The knowledge that I will someday see my sister, parents and friends again. My neighbors, hell, even my stingy old dragon of a boss!

But God, I have come to realize, is not with a sense of irony...


	34. Chapter 34

**-All Standard and Previously stated repetitive disclaimers apply. AKA. Don't be naughty!**

**Reviews:** Please and Thank you. As many have said, it means a lot, not only to my ego, but it truly helps me improve my writing skills.

**A/N:** Thanks for all the support guys! Your review keep me wanting to write! You guys rock!

Leaving the house had turned out to be less of a catastrophic endeavor then I had first imagined it might be. First off, we actually made it. Secondly we pulled it off with a precision that made me glow with pride. Needless to say though, I breathed easier when we took to the winding forested roads once again, and the generous tailing of undead fell behind, breathing in our exiting exhaust.

It felt as though it was like old times, me driving the cruiser, escaping from the chasing undead. For a minute I even saw Dan's face grinning at me from the passenger seat, looking elsewhere as his skilled fingers busily reloaded the scarred shotgun on his lap. I smiled in spite of myself, no matter what my brain said, here he was...with me again. A comforting feeling washed over me, one that I hadn't felt since this whole mess began, safety. But this sweet recollection did not last, and suddenly he turned, his eyes a milky white, mouth slack and gaping, but no moan fell from his lips. Instead he reached a large hand to my shoulder and roughly shook it, rumbling deep in his throat, as though words were hard to come to his lips, he shook his head, as I leaned towards him. Then he managed to grind out, voice rising in a mangled whisper... "No kid, not now, wake up kid. WAKE UP!"

I started awake, jerking the wheel back to the center line. "You okay?" Mike...or I suppose I should say, Thor asked, eyes piercing. "Want me to drive?" Trent butt in, unclipping his seat belt and leaning forward. I shook my head, smoothing my hair back behind my eats, and rolling down the window, shivering a little as the chilled air whipped in. I glanced at my reflection in the mirror, raccoon eyes stared back at me, with a bruise covered reflection, I looked away. "No, No. I am fine. I was...just thinking." I replied, still unsure about what had just occurred. Had I nodded off for a second? Or was I going nuts.

Squealing tires from behind us caused my head to snap up, eyes darting to the rear view mirror. Several undead had jumped Dave's truck from the side of the road, but had bounced off the swerving vehicle, one falling under the squealing tires. I could just make out Dave's mouth moving, and Rachel's panicked movements, until they regained control and sent us a quick thumbs up as Rachel watched the following couple chase the truck from the rear window.

"Fuck! Where did they come from?" Trent commented, looking about the forest surrounding us. "From anywhere." I commented dryly as I concentrated on taking a curve. The forest was punctuated by long winding dirt driveways, the typical country recluse stigma. But still farms dotted the landscape through the trees in the distance. "We must be coming on Blind Bay." Trent commented as a flash of frozen lake peeked out from behind the last curve before the lake front.

"Shit." Thor rumbled, twisting in his seat to watch the zombies progress. One still coming fast and the other still attempting to claw it's way up, it's legs a bloody broken mess on the snowy road. "Thats just sick man." He said, disgust practically dripping from his words. "Does nothing short of a head shot faze them?" he continued, as he reached into his voluminous, and rather shredded parka, pulling out a handgun, that looked positively miniature in his grasp.

I couldn't hold back an amazed expression. I had never even seen a gun before this had all began, now they seemed to spring from every pocket and backpack. I snorted disbelievingly at the ridiculousness of it all.

But then, as I cleared the last slippery corner, and slid out onto the winding road that hugged the lake front, I couldn't hold back a frustrated and surprised exclamation. I couldn't believe it! Were we deemed never to catch a break of luck!?!

It seemed that those who both had holiday homes, and that lived in this little piece of lakeside paradise had attempted to hold off in these cabin-like homes. Unfortunately those plans went awry somehow, maybe the undead had spread already, it was possible...but what I think happened was that they brought their wounded with them. A common mistake. But whether out of compassion or ignorance, it was committed, and it was their death knell.

But of course I had not a moment to think about all of this. As, because as soon as I turned that last corner it became a terrifying, fast-paced obstacle course, where hitting the other team, or crashing didn't mean lost dollars, but lost life.

"Fuck!" I cried as I barreled down the curving road. The undead had hardly paused as they took off running towards us. I suddenly really wished the I was in the back, rather then in the front.

"Turn around!" Thor yelled as he checked his secondary clip, shoving it in his jacket pocket. "We can't! This is the only way to the logging road!" Trent shouted back, straining to be heard above the bumps, moans, and Tia's frantic barking.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!" I chanted breathlessly as I whipped the wheel about, trying to avoid the lunging undead. Then, seeing an opening in the coming rush, I yelled a quick: "Hold on!" As I turned the police car into an impromptu off-road vehicle and hightailed it onto some dudes lawn, barely hearing the crunches of someones snow covered lawn ornaments...at least I think they were ornaments. As I crunched through the lawn I saw an open field ahead. Maybe an acre or so of virtually tree-free field and roared towards it, hoping fervently that the bumps and wince-worthy grinding noises from below were not the sounds of my car, or anything else in the under body of my car that was essential to it's running, was scrapping off.

But, at least I had a plan. "Get ready to shoot!" I cried, rolling down my own window as I did, jerking the wheel back around to avoid a randomly staring corpse, then bouncing over a hidden log. Putting my last second plan into action, I began driving in long looping circles around the field, leading the chasing undead in dizzying circles, but the beautiful result was that it put a much needed distance between them, and us. Giving Thor and Trent the chance to lean out and shoot them down from a relatively "safe" distance.

Things were going smoothly, so to speak, till Trent's voice rang out in the crisp, cold winter air. "Ash! Look! Coming on your left!" Trent yelled, his words barely legible over the wind, the gunshots, and the motor. But it was enough, using my right hand I attempted to maneuver the rifle to the window. "Bugger." I muttered, it was too bulky. "Take the wheel" I yelled desperately, as I eyed the fast coming creature, the beginnings of a much deeper sense of fear and panic began coiling into thick knots in my belly.

This was not good...basically the phrase that personifies my entire life now.. 


	35. Chapter 35

**-All Standard and Previously stated repetitive disclaimers apply. AKA. Don't be naughty!**

**Reviews:** Please and Thank you. As many have said, it means a lot, not only to my ego, but it truly helps me improve my writing skills.

**A/N:** Thanks for all the support guys! Your reviews keep me wanting to write! You guys rock! - Also, sorry the chapter is so short, but where I ended it, I felt was the perfect cliff-hanger! Yes yes...just kill me AFTER you read and review! Hehe!

It was too close, coming too fast, and too soon. So close that I could see it's matted black hair, it's unzipped winter jacket rippling in the wind, the blood on it's shirt not even dried, still tickling, this one was new...just born.

I let go of the wheel as soon as I felt Thor's massive hand pass over my thigh, en route to the wheel, leaning his massive frame towards me, and still firing wildly. But I brought the rifle up, sighting quickly, but not rashly. And I brought up that tranquil concentration Dan had taught me. The concentration that, when implemented correctly, narrows your vision to your target. It muffles your hearing so that everything else falls away, and all that is left is the cold barrel against your shoulder, and your target.

The moment the shot rang out, and I felt that bracing shock of the recoil, I knew I had missed. Red blossomed at the neck, a pulsing spray, and knocked the demon off-balance, the creature fell. But with hardly a pause, it lifted it's head, teeth bared in a horrifying snarl, before jumping to it's feet again and rushing head long at me. Vaguely I heard the blasts of a hand gun, and someone trying to pull me from the window. I shook myself and raised the rifle again. Either way, this would be my last shot. I sent the bullet, finally, and it couldn't have been more close. Entering the brain at the far right of the forehead, the shot was only a hairs breath away from being useless, it had almost just grazed the scalp. I felt the slight spray of his life's blood spit onto my outstretched hand, the one that clutched the shotgun.

But despite it all, as the body fell, I let out a joyous, euphoric whoop. Retaking the wheel, I cried out again as I felt adrenaline and sheer joy at still being alive overtake me. I jerked the wheel again, sending us in a bouncing acre as I deliberately plowed through a few chasing undead, yelling at the top of lungs and thumping on the steering wheel.

Trent and Thor took up the cry and let off something akin to a war whoop as they once again leaned out the window. "This is insane!" I heard Trent yell, a laugh in his voice. "Yeah, but I think all this shit merits insanity!" I yelled back with a grin. Turning the wheel back I continued to loop around and around till the pulsing crowd thinned and we took out the last one that stumbled after us in the snowy field.

"Phew!" I commented, sighing in relief, hands still tense on the wheel. "That was amazing!" Thor said, grin on his lips, turning his massive head to look at me, "Where did you learn to handle a gun like that?" He questioned, eyes twinkling. My strange sense of joy immediately sobered, and the memory of Dan's kind, open face flashed before my own, but when he turned away, his face transformed, milky eyes blossomed where bright blue eyes had one been, and a trail of blood gushed forth from his open mouth...I shook my head, violently and stared ahead again, an uncomfortably silence stretched till I realized he was awaiting my answer. "Dan did..." I finally replied. He was silent for a moment, then replied: "Well, I wish I had, had the chance to meet him." He finished, before looking ahead again.

..._'You have no idea..'_ I thought silently.

Giving Tia an encouraging pat from the backseat, the view in my mirror caught my eye. Or, to be more precise, the lack of a view. 

...David and Rachel were no where to be seen...


	36. Chapter 36

**-All Standard and Previously stated repetitive disclaimers apply. AKA. Don't be naughty!**

**Reviews:** Please and Thank you. As many have said, it means a lot, not only to my ego, but it truly helps me improve my writing skills.

**A/N:** Thanks for all the support guys! Your reviews keep me wanting to write! You guys rock! Holy poo poo! 36 chapters! I really can hardly believe it!

I swore silently. When had they fallen behind? Stamping down on the gas we exited the field and bounced across the lawn again. As we swerved onto the street again, an insisting sounding horn sounded as someone pounded on it, sounding it again and again. And as we turned that last slippery corner we came upon them. As they had went to follow us, it looked as though they had been hemmed in and had stopped. Dave was still attempting to move back, but was sliding and sliding on a patch of black ice.

"Fuck me..." Trent breathed. If I had, had time to dwell on the issue, I would have realized that Trent rarely swore. At least never often in my presence. So, of course, I knew even before I looked closely at the scene, that it would have to be near disastrous proportions. So, of course, staying true to our lousy luck, it was so.

Their truck was trapped on the ice patch right in the midst of a generous grouping of undead. With all the windows still unrolled we could hear their moans... but even more horrifying were the screams and yells of our friends. The undead were pressing against every surface, the truck actually began to rock with their determination.

Suddenly, the rear window slid open and Rachel's long black hair blew out with the wind as she climbed out, the sleek black hair trailing and whipping about her face with the violence of the wind. As she paused, one foot wavering on the floor of the back, the other firmly planted in the trucks cab, Dave's hands could be seen, visibly shoving her out, then passing her the handgun as he did. "Get on the roof! On the roof!" We heard him scream. Seconds later Rachel made a leap for the top, clambering up awkwardly, trying to stay away from the sides.

I sent the car towards them. "Shoot them! Thin them out!" I yelled, then as I heard the clicking cock of the guns at my side, I squeezed my eyes shut and prayed that my next move wouldn't back fire to badly and get us all killed. Wit that finally thought, I punched my fist down, firmly honking the horn.

Well it partly worked. The zombies paused, looking towards us. Others raced forward, eager for a newer source of prey. I could only hope that Trent and Thor would take care of them as I continued forward. But the large majority stayed. Eyes swiveling back to their trapped meal.

Above all the noise I could barely hear Rachel as she banged on the roof top, screaming frantically for Dave as the drivers side window shattered and meaty fingers whipped inside, probing, searching, like a poisonous snake might, as it tests the air above it for a sign of it's next meal.

I brought the car to a stop, and leaned out the window, counting quickly I figured about thirteen or fourteen of the zombie's were still grouped around the truck, and the odd one was still wandering nearby, coming at us, or beating on a house window. Could we do this?

I remember wondering worriedly, I knew nothing of tactic's or stratagems...who put me in charge anyway? Cursing, I grabbed the CB and yelled into it, thanking the gods for the small mercies of life, Thor had installed one in Dave's car while I had been ill. "Dave! Get your ass up to the roof! Whatever you are doing, do it later dammit!" I finished, not even waiting for a response before swinging out of the car, whirling about on the spot to make sure my back was clear. "Thor! Cover our back!" I yelled, having to repeat myself again so he could hear me over the din. Once he understood, he nodded and moved back.

Trent moved forward, yelling his twins name, and was about to run forward. I flung out my arm, gripping his forearm. "No!" I yelled. "Wait! It's too dangerous, just keep shooting." I cried. "What!?" He yelled, anger rippling his features. "He is going to die! They are both going to die! We need to--." But I cut him off. "No." I repeated. And for ten seconds nothing happened, and we starred at right other, my eyes broaching no argument, his eyes burning with anger and bitterness.

Moments later, I turned, ripping my gaze from his, and my heart soared as Dave's torso appeared through the back window, struggling to wiggle out, but squeeze out he did, and just in time to, as a waving hand shot out the window after him, it's snatching fist mere millimeters from closing on his shoe.

Scrambling, and half-helped up by Rachel, he finally joined her on the rooftop, and as she clung to him, she pointed at us and they turned, waving their arms frantically. I waved back and Trent and I inched forward, boot step, by boot step coming closer towards them.

I felt incredibly exposed ...and well definitely feeling at risk. Oh fuck it, I was scared. Suddenly the idea of staying in the car seemed so much more appealing. I shook my head. _Coward!_ I berated myself. _Did they baulk and run? No. Then why should you even be thinking of it! Fuck! You are the leader of sorts! You are a pathetic piece of worthless – _But my internal damnation of my soul and character, was cut short by an ear-splitting blast. I whirled, to my side, just in time to see a blood slick body fall, a mere few meters away. I hadn't even heard it coming. Turning about, mouth agape, I caught Thor's wave, and wordlessly I waved back, then turned back. I stared ahead intently, it was time to get into the game.

Shaking myself, I swallowed hard. But how does one lead when every second I breathed through I felt like fainting. Like I would literally choke on my fear, I could feel it. It sat in tight knots in the pit of my stomach, and as I faced the rushing terror, trying to aim true while pushing forward, the knot softened, and like a black gooey tar, it became vine-like, growing and clinging. Threatening to overwhelmed me completely under a thick, all consuming coating of black.

Baulking, I straightened. Glaring at the corpse at my feet. Suddenly I felt a feeling, something that I had never truly felt... a thick wave of hate. And it overtook me, it overtook the fear, drowning it in a boiling red wave. It was all them! They RUINED it all!

I thank god for this feeling of hate towards their kind. The fear has never completely vanished, but when I bring up this hate, this powerful emotion cam quell my fear, bringing it's conquering roar,down to a mute mewling cry. That emotion has pulled me together at the worst of times. But, for the first time in my life, real, unadulterated hate formed in my soul. It was like losing ones virginity, exhilarating...yet painful. And, you can never go back to the way it was before, that purity is broken, lost forever.

At my side, Trent was being rushed by three of the demons, they must have figured that we were easier pickings. I turned with him, taking out a sheirking woman in a nightdress, while Trent was able to take out a man, who would have been impeccably dressed, in a black suit and a sky blue tie, if it weren't for the hideous chunk torn from his cheek. Streamers of blood had dribbled down his face streaking his white dress shirt. I caught his eye and saw a ghost of a smile appear before swinging away again to shoot at the group still plaguing our friends at the truck.

Thor was suddenly at my back. "We re getting low on ammo, we need to get some desperately." He half whispered. "Fuck." I muttered, swinging top take down yet another running figure from behind us. "How low?" I asked, stumbling in the deep snow, noting that only six or so undead remained at the truck. "I am tempted to say , that you don't want to know, but at the risk of sounding totally un-fucking-original...Other then what they have in their guns and pockets, we have about twelve rounds of handgun ammo, and about twenty extra shotgun shells." "Damn.." I muttered, mind racing.

"We should wrap this up them." Trent replied, moving forward as Dave shot another beast down that was attempting to climb the tailgate of the truck.

Suddenly, a high-pitched scream echoed in the empty street. When Dave had turned to shoot the climbing zombie Rachel had been knocked off balanced and had slid off the slid. Only a death grip on Dave;s CB antenna had stopped her fall. As it was her legs scissored frantically in the empty air, only inches above the heads of less then half a dozen hungry demons.

We didn't even pause, we move together as one, on to the truck in half-run. It was like monkey-see monkey-do, and two more began to climb the tailgate. Dave was torn, one hand reaching to Rachel, who still held fast to the antenna, his other hand trying to steady his shot at the oncoming hell-spawn.

I stopped and flopped to the ground, leaning against a fallen tree, trying to aim well enough for a true shot. I quickly saw my mark, a big one. It was wearing such a hideous short that I hardly felt guilty for taking him down. The timing was prime, just as he reached up for Rachel's flailing foot, I brought him to the ground. After the shot I adjusted my aim as Trent moved into my line of vision, trying to take down the most dangerous of the beasts first.

Another terrified scream punctuated the air. Rachel was slipping. A single zombie had a hold of her booted foot, fingers scratching in vain on the blessedly thick rubber. "Pull her up! Pull her up!" I screamed, stumbling, and almost falling as I ran forward. The zombie yanked at her leg again as still others leaned in to get their share. It was like some sort of strange tug-o-war contest, with Rachel as the rope. Rachel had turned her neck around to look at the demons that pawed at her leg, kicking at them frantically in an effort to get them to loosen their hold, but to no avail. It must have been horrifying, but she was forced to do nothing but watch as those jaws descended, closing around her foot. She only screamed, and screamed.

It was then that Dave made a command decision, I don't think it was overly smart, but it did save her life. He tossed the gun, it flew through the air, thumping to the ground and skidding to a stop at Trent's feet. Then flung himself down, gripping Rachel by the armpits, forcing her to abandon her hold on the antennae. Her fingers still scrabbled desperately at air, pained screams still tearing from her throat.

Thor raised his gun, and with apparent concentration, he aimed and brought down the zombie that had anchored itself to her foot, bringing it down in a fountain of gushing blood. Surprised by the sudden lack of resistance, they lost their balance and tumbled over the other side, Dave's mouth agape in a surprised "o" as he slipped over the other side, disappearing from view.


	37. Chapter 37

**-All Standard and Previously stated repetitive disclaimers apply. AKA. Don't be naughty and steal!**

**Reviews:** Please and Thank you. As many have said, it means a lot, not only to my ego, but it truly helps me improve my writing skills.

**A/N:** Thanks for all the support guys! Your reviews keep me wanting to write! - **Also for those who have been eagerly awaiting DJ Steve's return, you shall like this chapter. I also want to know what you think...Tell me what you wish our beloved DJ Steves's fate to be? ...His cool little life is in your hands. Have fun!**

From there everything sped up, we took the remaining number out within minutes. And soon, all was quiet, except for the running of both our engines, and crunching of snow under our feet.

"Whoa! What a gong-show!" Rachel exclaimed, peeking her head around the truck, as if to determine that everything was all clear. Getting to her feet she dusted herself off, disgustedly wiping at the blood that had sprayed her clothes. "Thanks guys." She said gratefully. I couldn't say anything, I could hardly breathe. "Did it get you?" I managed, almost choking on my own spit with the effort it took to say those words.

"What? Oh! No! No. It was chewing on my boot! Look!" She trilled, hopping about on one foot as she lifted up her winter boot, the rubber heel and toe pitted with deep tooth-markings, still slick with saliva.

"Well I'll be damned..." Thor exclaimed. I expelled a breath that I wasn't even aware I had been holding, and grabbed her, enveloping her in a crushing hug. "I am sorry..." I murmured, her arms squeezing me back tightly. "I should have...I should have double checked...I should have.." I trailed off, feeling too tightly wound with guilt to speak.

"Don't, you got us. We were doing alright till the ice. It could have happened to anyone." She whispered. I shook my head again, but her eyes flashed, and said aloud. "Don't you dare. Don't you dare blame yourself for something so far from your control. You aren't God. You couldn't have known." She continued sternly. I looked at her, momentarily feeling like a child a parent had just given a tongue-lashing too. I was surprised by the force and conviction in her words, and abashed, shifted my feet in the slushy snow uncomfortably.

"Yeah." Dave replied, dusting off his fallen weapon, and scooting around as he brushed snow from his person. "If it wasn't for you, we would have been dead about ten times over by now." He finished, swiping a hand over his hair, causing it to stick up and ruffle in the odd place. I awaited a joking grin, but nothing but seriousness and relief played on his features.

I couldn't believe it. All I had done this entire mess of an escape, was barely get Rachel before she was eaten by her own mother. Almost die. Put everyone in harms way...multiple times! And...and..THEY WERE BLOODY GRATEFUL?!? Thanking me even? I snorted in disbelief, **now** I knew I was raving mad.

A hand patted my shoulder, the force behind it almost buckling my knees. "Wouldn't have put you down as one, but you have a talent for leading, Ashley." Thor rumbled, his voice slightly muffled as he pulled his coat collar up further against the chill. I winced slightly, to me, my name one his lips sounded awkward, bulky. And secondly, I felt sure that the passive paw resting on my shoulder weighed an easy fifty pounds. I was surprised that my boots were not sinking into the snow from the weight.

I unclipped the tailgate and plopped down on it. Dave quickly joined me, leaning his head against the spare tire. "Why us?" He asked suddenly, not looking at any one in particular, like he was also addressing the slushy landscape about us as well.

"Right place, in the right time?" Rachel supplied, as she slumped down beside me, still trying in vain to rub out the blood that speckled her front. Trent moved closed, observing her intently, leaning complacently on the wheel well on my other side.

"Heads up!" Thor called, and I caught a beer as he tossed them around. I cracked mine open, grimacing as the warm texture tortured my tongue. Belch! Warm beer, is there anything worse? But I drank it greedily, hardly stopping to savor it, just wanting that familiar burn, and the comforting warmth that followed.

"No, no. I mean why this?" He said, pointing to the bodies lying around us. We were all silent for a time. Only the slurping of beer and the tinkling of Tia's collar could be heard as she explored the truck bed, snorting and snuffling in excitement at all the new and strange smells. Finally, I broke the silence.

"Honestly Dave, I doubt we will ever find out what exactly caused this...or who. But if it is one thing I have learned from working on a major in history for the past few years, is that humanity is notorious for learning too late from it's mistakes. It was only a matter of time before one turned around to bite us in the ass." I finished. "Too true." Thor agreed, saluting me with his beer.

"Probably some secret project in the states." Dave interjected with a frown. " Remember, that was what Resident Evil was about." - "Nah." Thor began thoughtfully, "But weren't they searching for a way to stop the aging process?"

I left them to it, personally, I had, had enough horror in my life to last a lifetime. Scooping up Tia I smiled as she wriggled up to lean on my shoulder, happily checking out the world from her new view. I walked to the car and pulled out some blankets for her side of the car, neatly folding and pressing them into her seat before plunking her down on it to reload the shotgun.

But not to be out done, she set to work immediately. Destroying her neatly made bed, and sending herself into a digging and rolling fest as she sought to correct my apparent arrangement error. She always could put a smile on my face. I grinned as she huffed and plopped back in her fluffy, and admittedly quite comfortable looking nest, wiggling about till just her twitching black ears could be seen. Smiling again, I popped the trunk, grabbing some quick snacks, pausing slightly as I cast a longing look at the overflowing cardboard box full of soups stuffed in the back. What a treat it would be to have warm food again! And then, the thought of coffee rose in my memory, steam still rising from the cup, that aroma...ahhh.. it was enough to cause drooling!

Sighing, I began morosely peeling at my orange, which flicking through the regular radio channels. Unlike the first couple of days, more and more of the stations that had managed to stay on the air had retreated under a haze of scratchy static. Which of course made sense, but it was just depressing. As I clicked through the channels, pausing every once and a while as I caught the odd one not off air, I was horrified to hear a chorus of moaning and pounding. I quickly turned past, quite sure I didn't want to know the unfortunate story behind that station.

The majority of the stations that were on seemed to be ominously replaying a long list of songs over and over again. On another channel, a harried sounding lady repeated overrun safe houses, her voice shaking and stuttering breathlessly as though she was trying hard to fight tears. Again, I clicked quickly past, I had enough grief of my own to deal with. Finally I switched to a delightfully familiar channel, and a huge grin broke the grim expression on my face. "Hey guys!" I yelled from my seat in the car. **"DJ Steve! HAHA! The bastard is still alive!"** I cried, grinning fit to split my face from ear to ear.

"No Shit?!" Thor exclaimed, aiming and shooting down a distant figure from his seat in the truck bed. "Thats awesome, I have been listening to his shit since this all started." He finished, taking a generous swig of beer, crumpling the can into the back. "Same!" I called back, not overly surprised to hear that his humor and sarcastic personality had yet to dim as he colorfully insulted the undead that surrounded the station, his words punctuated every few minutes as he grunted with exertion. I could only assume he was throwing stuff at them, as he was muttering a one-sided commentary as he hit them, or sometimes missed, much to his displeasure.

As he switched back to songs again, muttering about Charlie, his co-worker, I idly hummed along as I looked about us. Thor and Dave were still lounging about in the truck bed, talking, but still looking about for any sign of trouble. While my gaze took in Trent and Rachel as he motioned her away from the group, and they wandered off, heading for the fields tree-line. Sheepishly, feeling a lot like a nagging mother hen, I called out: "Don't go to far!", my voice echoing strangely in the empty field. Trent distractedly flicked his hand in my direction to indicate he had heard.

I sighed and cranked the seat back, leaning back and propping my feet up on the dash, poking the gun out the window. On a impulse I reached for my cell then lay on the dash, and flipped in open, warily eying the low battery indicator. I skimmed through my received calls, frowning worriedly as I found that no one had called me since Rachel last had. Was I out of range?...Or did it mean something much, much worse?

On impulse again, I called home, surprised when it rang. Dave had tried to call his neighbors a few hours previous and the lines had been down. We lived in different parts of town, apparently our power was still on. I cursed myself for the slight hope that had dared to soar in my breast. After the fifth ring, it clicked to the answering machine. My eyes blurred with unshed tears as my dad's message came on. It was this fleeting hope, that somehow still lived in my heart, that caused me to leave a message. Indeed it was a message that I left on every one of my friends and families answering machines, explaining that for now, I was alive and with a group of survivors. I also explained to this empty recordings, of my plan. Giving them all our cell numbers. I couldn't help but keep the slim hope I still had left to me, alive. So, in a sense, no news, was potentially, not necessarily bad news.

Sighing deeply, I rubbed my eyes vigorously, rubbing small circles into my sore temples. Letting my mind work on our current pressing problem. Ammunition. Damn, how I wish we were near my work, I had the keys to a whole cabinet full of it. Would their be a shop with that kind of stuff in it around here? I couldn't recall any..though I wasn't very familiar with the area either.

_'Bugger it all.' _I cursed, _"This whole leadership thing isn't all lovely fun and games..._' I thought, mentally picking my brain. _'I wonder how Gandhi and Napoleon did it?"_


	38. Chapter 38

**-All Standard and Previously stated repetitive disclaimers apply. AKA. Don't be naughty and steal!**

**Reviews:** Please and Thank you. As many have said, it means a lot, not only to my ego, but it truly helps me improve my writing skills.

**A/N:** Alert: It is your turn! Help me decide:** I want to know what you think...Tell me what you wish our beloved DJ Steve's fate to be? ...His cool little life is in your hands. Have fun!**

What if we couldn't find a place? What if we ran out of ammunition? What if I fail everyone?! These doubts and more piled up in teetering towers in my brain, building, building, building...shifting. Up and up until I mentally snapped, swiping at them, sending them tumbling and crashing down. Ton-like bricks, seemed to collapse and fall, like Lego's. But, now was not the time to wallow in what could be! '_Get your ass moving girl!_'

With that, I shook my head, squeezing my face between my cold hands, the chilly appendages tingling as the blood flow was jump-started once again. Movement. I wondered for a second if I could just stand here for days, and hope to freeze solid. To sleep out this nightmare of mine, till I woke up, in my own bed, with my father cooking bacon, and flap-jacks in his old green housecoat, humming softly in the kitchen, though no radio would be on... As always. Then of course, the dilemma hit. Would I thaw in the summer? Only to be reborn in this field, at the roadside, no-doubt surrounded by the slavering undead, simply waiting for me to thaw enough so their sharp teeth could finally rend my flesh? Bad plan. Focus!

With that I was off, striding back to the truck with purpose, no matter how forced. It was purpose nonetheless.

I got Dave off to do a quick inventory of stock. Accidentally smacking him in the face with the pen and paper I threw after him in my disorganization. My red-faced, embarrassed apology followed. I tend to get excited easily, still do. But that was all forgotten as I soon had Thor engaged in a conversation about where to get out much needed ammo. I quickly deferred to Thor's knowledge of the area. Delighting in the options we had at our disposal.

Our strange luck had once again deferred to us for a change. And, as it happened, Thor knew of a guy. A guy known somewhat affectionately as "Loopy Lee", a guy about a ten minute drive from here. He was, as one might surmise from his nickname, he was an odd duck. He was a suspicious, ornery old fart, who believed in every conspiracy theory in the book. From the Soviets 'inevitable' take-over, to President Bush's secret plot for an American push for world domination, aliens, and of course, the eventual world apocalypse.

So, like any good paranoid person, he had, according to Thor, a good amount of hoarded supplies. In fact, last he had heard, Loopy Lee was thinking about installing a bomb shelter of sorts on his extensive property. According to Thor, when someone had inquired about why one would ever need a bomb shelter in Canada. Lee was said to have snorted in disgust, spat, and stated, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Why, for when China and the States decides to fight over our recourses, of course." I half laughed, torn between avid disbelief and grudging amusement.

Excited at the prospect of an easy way to get ammunition and other such supplies, our course of action was quickly agreed upon.

I remember it quite clearly, in fact, it is hard to believe that I restrained myself this far from mentioning it before it's due time, so I didn't mess up the time-line of this account more then I already have. As I raised my voice, calling to Trent and Rachel, who were still in deep discussion at the tree-line. But, my voice, called something else forth. It caused a zombie who had been beating on a homes living room window to renew their pounding frenzy. Ultimately bursting through the window with a glassy crunch. Hardly missing a beat, the horrid thing stumbled slightly, windmilling it's arms about in stomach-turning circles, it's arm, I cannot remember especially which, had been ripped off at the shoulder. The jagged ends of the loosely hanging skin, uneven, as though they had been gnawed off hurriedly.

When it finally regained it's balance, it looked up, and with a baying howl it propelled itself towards us. Coming at us faster then I had ever seen one more before. If I had had a moment to take in the sight I might have laughed. She could have been anyones Grandmother. Curlers were still rolled snugly in place, a cashmere bathrobe, tied loosely over a sky blue nightgown. And to complete the strange outfit, a large handbag hung, looped unevenly over her uninjured shoulder. I didn't even have a second to react as she plowed towards us. My heart sped as her beady eyes focused on my own, and she changed her direction in mid-stride to pursue me.

All thoughts of jumping up on the car to evade her were lost as she closed the distance to a mere few meters. Frozen, I hadn't even raised my gun. A rookie reaction. Thor and Dave woke me from my daze as they yelled and screamed, waving their arms about in vain to try and divert it's attention. Surprisingly, it kind of worked. As, bug-like, her head turned jerkily to look. Bullets pinged by, but non found there mark.

Red-tinged my vision as rage filled me. Hate and anger arose again in my breast. "Just.. AH! FUCK IT ALL!" I screamed and swung the rifle at her cranium as her face turned back to me. I caught her shoulder instead, but still she did not fall. She whipped her head up, lips drawn back in a growling snarl. Scrambling she launched herself forward. I dodged and smacked her on the back of the head with a vicious back swing, brining her to the ground at last. Her looked back at me, fingers scrabbling in the slippery snow, she growled again, a deep rumbling gurgle. Eyes piercing even through the veil of white, evil. As though assuring me of my swift and sure end by her hands...or should I say teeth?

Either way, I have seen murders and raging psychopaths with calmer eyes. But, I had just had it. Before Z-Day, (As we now call it) I was usually a very passive person when it came to arguments. Preferring to let others get uptight. Or, more preferably, using humanity's gift of reason to diffuse the situation. But, nowadays, it seems sometimes that humanity is falling back into it's primal habits. By using guns, or fists to solve a problem instead of words and a calm tone. But, like I had mentioned, I had had enough. I was bone-weary, ill, and angry. I couldn't decide if I wanted to puke or scream. And the rage that consumed me rose like bile in my throat. But one thing I knew for sure, I didn't want to die, and this fucker would not be the one to take me down!

So, as you can imagine, I brought the rifle butt down again and again. Flinging the corpse this way and that with the force of my swings. Later I was told by my friends, who had stood, half-awed, half horrified, that I had screamed: "_I hate you! I hate you!" _As each swing cracked home. I'll admit it wasn't exactly the most original thing to say, but hell, I didn't even realize I was yelling till I was told so.

My arms burned, that searing ache that lets your bran know that it is either time to stop, or time to drop. Exhausted, my arms fell to my sides, sore fingers, tinged purple and strained from clutched the gun. Mind blessedly blank until a movement at my feet caught my eye. I almost screamed in fright as her one remaining hand, blood-splattered, but moving nonetheless till it closed around the toe of my sneaker. Her ruined face craned up, slowly...ever so slowly moving to gaze up at me. A broken, pitiful moan escaping the gaping hole that used to be her mouth...teeth broken and missing. Her gums receding, and so dark with blood that they appeared black.

My resolve shivered, shaking slightly as I looked down upon the creature I had just unmercifully beaten. God...

But the logical, calculating, and survivor part of my brain, a new element, a new section, nudged back into my consciousness. It had no qualms, and yelled out brazenly, it's echo drowning out that tickling emotion of sympathy to utter boldly: "No mercy!" And as her eyes began to clear, to sharpen again after the vicious assault, I looked into them, absorbing all the evil, the blankness, and the hunger. Even absorbing that flicker, that tiny piece of life that aways seems to be with them at the end. As though, at the very end, a tiny piece of who they were creeps back. I saw it all, and my resolve no longer quivered.

I raised the rifle butt once again and muttered aloud: "**No Mercy.**" Bringing it down hard and fast, flattening her to the ground. After I heard that crack, it was as though everything that was weak in me came tumbling back, and I staggered away, emptying my gut, then dry-retching onto the soiled snow.

Exhausted and overcome with a sensation that was too complicated for words, I dropped to my butt on the ground, dropping the shotgun at my side as though it burned me. As I sat, sprawled on the damp earth, I couldn't help but watch idly as the blood dripped in a steady stream from her mouth. Dark shadows obscured the sun from behind me. Judging by the size it was not the coming dusk, but Thor and Dave. "You okay?" Dave asked timidly, blue eyes kind, but slightly weary.

When I didn't answer Thor snorted in disgust "Of course she isn't alright." And he reached down, gently bringing me to my feet. Muttering under his breath, "None of us are alright anymore." I had to agree I thought as I steadied myself on his steady arm, regretting the contact as I politely relinquished my grip.

The ringing of a cell phone caused my hand to move to my pocket as awareness rushed back in. I could suddenly all too well feel the dampness of the melted snow that had soaked into my rear, all the way through to my underwear beneath. I could now feel the weariness in my bones, and the blood on my face, running down like rain dribbling from a window sill. But when my hand went to my pocket, it found it empty. I had forgotten that my cell was still in the car. It could me a second before it abruptly hit me, it wasn't even my ringtone.

The ringing continued. "Whose cell?" I asked, looking around at my companions, whose hands had moved in unison to their respective pockets. "Not mine!" Came the reply. Puzzled, I turned about, "Then who..." I began, only to stop in mid-sentence as my eyes fell on the old lady's purse. I almost dived for it, swooping down and grabbing it, her arm flopping pathetically, limply as the strap came loose from her shoulder. Everyone gathered around curiously as I removed the case and clicked the phone on to answer.

"Hello?" I questioned uncomfortably, now that I had answered I really had no idea what to say. "Betty?" Came a croaky voice, hardly distinguishable as a womans. "Erm... no ma'am." I responded, pausing as I looked down at the woman at my feet. "Ma'am, does Betty have permed gray hair?" I asked, wincing slightly.

"Why yes. We went for perms this week. Can you please put her on the phone?" The croaky voice asked, her tone now tinged with worry. "I am sorry ma'am, but she was, um, infected." I finished awkwardly, biting my lip nervously as I tried to look anywhere but down. "Oh dear! No! We were just coming to pick her up! She was waiting for us to come! We would have come sooner, but..but..he said-" The voice replied unstable to finish her train of thought as grief hit, her muffled sobs barely recognizable above the din of confused voices, and half legible questions. There was a few moments where we both stayed quiet. She likely was just as unsure as how to break this awkward silence as I was. Finally there was a jumbled mumble and a distinctly male voice that scratchily invaded the line.

"Who is this?!" Came a nasally, demanding voice, so loud in the receiver that I winced and held the cell away from my ear. "I am a survivor. I am with a group of survivors. We met with some problems here. We are heading to a safe-" But before I could even finish, he overrode me, speaking right over me.

"Safe!?!?! SAFE?! No where is safe anymore! No where! Not even out own homes! Our only hope is to wait for the police to come. For the Army! They WILL come soon. They'll pick us up and take us somewhere safe!" He said, carrying on till I was quite sure he was on the verge of a mental break down. Rachel, who had crowded in close, muttered: "What the fuck?" Her face registering a bewildered and annoyed expression as the man abruptly yelled for me never to call him again and hung up. Dave grinned down at me, "I guess now would not be the right time to call him back and tell him that they were the ones that called in the first place?" We all shared a collective laugh at this man expense. I pocketed the cell, noticing that it still held a half battery of a charge before I turned it off, better to conserve the battery-power I thought as I shoved it inside my big jeans, the pants so big that the pockets came down to my knee level.

I looked about, taking in it all. I was alive. I was still alive. Miraculously, strangely, unbelievably, I was still here. Against all odds, I was still alive when so many were not. Impulsively I wrapped my arms around myself, hugging my arms to my chest. This was a very different world now, and I was unsure of were we stood. After all of our evolution and progress, we had regressed, gone back in time. It was survival of the fittest all over again. Darwin would be dancing about in glee.

I thought about my life. Everything I had done, everything I had seen. But more importantly, everything I hadn't done, everything I hadn't seen. Everything I had laid in bed dreaming about. All that I had heard whispered in my ear on those sweet nights when he held my close, his arms wrapped about me, his warm breath at my neck, fingers playing with my long brown hair. The simplicity of his presence like a safety blanket for me to snuggle under, to be safe with. And for everything I saw when I looked upon an old couple shopping, or a mother and a newborn at a bus stop. For everything beyond the horizon and for everything smack-dab in my face.

I had wanted it all, and in the space of a few days, had been left with nothing. Nothing. Nothing on the brain anymore but the need to make it through the next hour. Even entertaining thoughts of day to day survival were still too foreign in this new, unstable world. I wanted a life! Not to fight to keep one! On hindsight, I suppose that's how those in third world countries felt everyday that they lived before the outbreak.

I sighed, then looked about at my companions. "Well saddle up guys. It's time to hit the road." I said with a small smile. But before we could disperse, Trent stepped forward. "What if this doesn't work? Then where will we be? Stuck in the middle of fucking no where without ammunition?" He challenged. While he did have a valid point. I felt like sighing again. And almost did till I eyed him, and when I looked into his eyes, I saw under the thin layer of forced calm and control, I saw the same fear and desperation in his eyes that was in everyones eyes. Mine included. All my annoyance melted away, I understood.

"If you have another solution, another option Trent, I would love to hear it." I began, pausing to give him a chance to respond. When he did not, I continued on. "Right now our options are slim. Either we head to Thor's friends place; (Thor gave me a good eye roll for that one). Or, we head into town to get our supplies. Now, having been in town, even for that first day, I can tell you that going their isn't an option, it's suicide. Plain and simple. Now, I think this is our best option here. If Lee's is a bust, we are just going to have to go from there okay? We will have to hit that road when we come to it." I finished, looking from him to see the others looking furtively at me, then to Trent.

"Do we want to vote on this?" I asked. Fully expecting for there to be no contest in the outcome, it was plain and simple that the other way was suicide. A true no-brainer.

"No, I'll take your world for it. This was bad enough." Rachel answered finally, gesturing about us. Dave also nodded his head, saying with a visible shudder that he had no wish to go back into the city. Thor only nodded his assent before rooting about in his pocket, bringing out a crumpled pack of cigarettes and a lighter. I looked back to Trent soon after, wrinkling my nose at the trademark tobacco smell.

"It's not that...I mean. The city was bad enough, but what...what if we.." I said, trailing off depressingly. I was quick to respond, trying to tail off the depression before it seeped into the others.

"Well, then, I'll be one pissed off zombie!" I finishing laughingly. No one laughed back. Ouch, tough crowd. "Look guys, this is as hard for me, as it is you. But you know we need to get moving. We can't stay here, we are loosing the day and we need that ammo before everywhere is crawling with these things. Stick with me okay?" I asked, trying to keep a pleading edge from my voice. I knew this was the right thing to do...but to hell if it wasn't going to be the easiest. Cause it wasn't going to be.

It was agreed, and I breathed a silent sigh of relief. Trent sill looked contemplative as he stared down at the battered corpse at our feet. This time, I looked directly down at her, and whispered a breathy "Sorry." to her soul, hopefully departed and on it's way to whatever lay beyond, as I picked up the shotgun once more. And as soon as my hands enclosed around the stock, that familiar weight settled down over my shoulders. The weight of responsibility.

Dave was already in the cab of the truck, rifling through the glove box and pulling out some papers. Rachel on the other hand was slapping her pockets, a slightly panicked look crossing her delicate features. "What is it?" I called. "The keys!...The keys. Fuck. They were in my pocket!" She muttered distractedly. Then she bounded forward towards the tree line, her hurried words tossed over her shoulder by the wind. "I must have dropped them over there."

"Wait up!" Trent called, jogging to catch her "You shouldn't go alone." I nodded, though he had his back turned, and turned to talk to Thor. It was only halfway into our discussion about Lee's when a heart-wrenching scream shattered the silence.

I whipped my head over and was already half in a run before the scene in front of me stopped me cold. A burly, bulk of an undead monster had leapt from the tree line seeming right at their backs. I turned just in time to see Trent push Rachel away from the beast. Saving her heroically from the beast that had chosen her for his meal. Rachel's small form went flying, and upon impact her scrambled up, pausing slightly in indecision till Thor's voice ordered her towards us, and she took off running. But Trent, was a whole different story, in saving Rachel, he hadn't the time to raise his gun, and the weapon was knocked from his grasp as the monster changed direction, it's mean eyes focusing and bearing down on my dear friend. There was no wrestling match, no screams, nothing. My friend was consumed, covered by the beast, sinking it's eager jaws into his shoulder, even from the distance I could see his fists beating on the unmovable mountain that straddled him, only a small pained cry escaped his lips.

Only seconds had past, but it was a few seconds too many for Trent. I raised the shotgun, closing one eye and praying to all the gods that I wouldn't miss. It hit, solid and true, taking him in the eye as he looked up, pausing his feast at Dave's agonized cry that escaped his lips a second before.

The monster fell and we continued our race to him. When we were but meters away when he jerked to his feet, blood spurting steadily from where the shoulder and the neck meet. Already a crimson curtain colored his shirt, the blood even still racing down his arms, encircling his muscles in stark red, a dribbling bracelet. Holding fast to his wound, he lifted a shaking hand towards us.

"No! ...Nooo." He gurgled. "Dave..Dave. I-" He began, then stumbled forward, falling to the ground. "Not safe.." He whispered. His face, so often before this wreathed in smiles and his signature goofy expression. Always the joker, always the lighthearted one. Now was pale, eyes glassy, unfocused. His free hand continued searching in the slushy snow as he reached for a piece of glinting metal only just now at his reach.

I realized a second before he picked it up, what it was. The handgun. He grasped it with both hands, the now uncovered wound spurting blood in a thin gushing stream. And in one weak, but sure motion, he shoved it into his mouth, eyes focused on his twin before squeezing his eyes shut, and...he pulled the trigger. So suddenly, and brashly. Not a second to consider, not even a second to say goodbye. He was gone.

And as Rachel and Dave broke out into soul wrenching cries. Dave stumbling forward, arms reached out, as though to try and catch his brothers limp body from it's flopping decent to the bloody ground. His hands reaching out, straining, but never quite being able to touch him. As though his death was the final barrier, and he could hold him no longer.

As the body settled, and the gun fell, I could not cry. Not a tear. Not a grimace. Nothing. Not a single tear...


	39. Chapter 39

**-All Standard and Previously stated repetitive disclaimers apply. AKA. Don't be naughty and steal!**

**Reviews:** Please and Thank you. As many have said, it means a lot, not only to my ego, but it truly helps me improve my writing skills.

**A/N:** Alert: It is your turn! Help me decide:** I want to know what you think...Tell me what you wish our beloved DJ Steve's fate to be? ...His cool little life is in your hands. Have fun!**

**A/N #2:** I hope you enjoyed the last chapter. (Though, I won't blame you if you want to kill me! Hehe) It was my longest yet. I decided that instead of breaking it down into 2 small ones, one big one was more appropriate, as this chapter was quite like one big scene. Remember to read and review!

Well readers, here I am again. I am glad I am not dating these entries, as the gaps between them are slightly longer then I wish at times. I seem to have less time to myself then when I was going to university and working.. all those years ago. There is always something to be done nowadays. But unlike in the Old World, these things usually CANNOT be put off till tomorrow.

Yet another raid has gone and past, and I am still alive...for now at least. My "**Latest** stunt" as Kirren calls it.. Which I really must protest about. It was nothing of the sort!

...Sure, it was my idea, and sure I pulled it off... But how could I know they'd be 'Jumpers'? Either way it was a success, we got the medicines we came for. The only flaw in this plan is that I am stuck in the **"Pit"**...till either a week passes, or I turn. Personally, I hope it is the first one.

Sigh...this is going to be one long ass week. Joe and Rachel better come with Monopoly or I might be forced to simply die just to spite them all. It would serve them right. Cheeky bastards, my dinner is already a half an hour late.

The "Pit" is Kirren and Thor's creation. Once the sanctuary started growing, gaining more and more survivors. We found we had a problem. When we began going farther and farther out for supply runs, we realized, after a few unfortunate incidents that we needed a way to effectively quarantine those who had been in direct contact with the infected.

For example, in my case, I am here because when we went on our medical supply run, I got in a bit of a jam. The main targets for this emergency run were Insulin and Penicillin. So, for that we had to hit a medical clinic or a hospital. The closest to us, that was mostly intact and untouched was a clinic in Kelowna. It was one hell of a trip. We operated majorly in stealth, but even then our ten-man team was reduced to only 6 by the time we reached our destination. It was a big blow to our community, most of the guys that died had family here.

But, when we set out it was a needed risk. The majority of our elderly and middle aged population here is diabetic, and our insulin supply was dangerously low. Not only that, but our triage drugs, salves, high grade pain killers, and even knock out gas/or laughing gas was basically run right out. The elders also wanted the new children, and the rest of the population that did not have their normal shots, such as: Measles, Mumps, Hepatitis A and B, as well as the Flu shot variety to be dosed out, to prevent the spread of virus, big or small...if we could get it.

So, we had no choice but to travel that far away from home, and unfortunately into a highly populated area. My heart was in my chest the whole drive.

We were hoping that there would not be a high concentration at the center, given that it was mercifully not too far into the city, and on a steep hill. Well, we were half right. The concentration around the center was minimal, and we took them out with silencers, to avoid rousing a bigger crowd. That done, we pulled the Semi up to the buildings side, using it as we usually did with large buildings as a platform in which to reach the fire escape ladder that was only accessible to someone who didn't have a key till mid-way up the building. Then, from there we clambered up to the roof. In this case, the building in question had a ridiculous amount of sky-lights, and from these we observed what we could through the buildings roof-windows.

As it turned out, we weren't as lucky with the inside as we had been with the outside. The skylights told us that the first floor (which of course was all we could see into) was teeming with the walking dead.

I am not entirely sure why, but with the two crumpled ambulances near the doors, slowly rusting away in the blistering Okanagan summer sun, one can only assume that in the first days this clinic had been turned into a triage and emergency care center. Predictably it had fallen, seemingly trapping it's occupants inside, as from what we could see none of the windows or doors had been smashed or forced open.

But to make an endless story short and sweet, the six of us remaining: Kirren, Thor, Julie, Joe, Marty, and myself decided to search out the more promising rooms by skylight, drop in, and do a quick grab, get out, and do it all over again in the next skylight. This plan worked relatively well as a lot of the rooms were already closed up. The doors were a sturdy wood make with nice dead-locks. Lucky for us the builders and owners turned out to not be cheap-ass, tight-fist bitches.

But the problem was that what we were pulling out was not our primary objectives. Sure there was lots of worthwhile shit in this place, but they were minor drugs, and high-grade vitamins. We needed the good shit.

Half an hour latest Julie gave an excited whoop from across the roof where her and Kirren were working on a row of windows. And in seconds her signature accent crackled through the hand-held attached to my hip. "Guys! Guys! We found a whole room full of our secondary objective. Kirren says to focus and collect only the items on our primary list, we have more then enough of the rest. Over."

"Gotcha" I responded. "Insulin and Penicillin it is. Over." Kneeling down I peered through another skylight, rubbing an already filthy cloth over two years of dirt, dust and grime. I called in to check with Joe at the semi, who was watching our backs and loading the boxes as we passed them down through the semi's own skylight, (our perfected way to enter and exit the vechile while on a raid). He radioed that the amount in the general area was increasing slightly. A predictable outcome as the undead in the area were drawn upwards after us when we roared through the outskirts of the city, then through a short cut Marty new of through a residential area. Which was were we picked up most of them.

When Joe had finished his report, Kirren was quick to make a judgment call, and sent Marty to go and help Joe keep them down to a manageable size at the truck till we returned.

Finally, Thor and I hit pay dirt! The last skylight in my row appeared to be the ceiling window into the main stock room for the drugs we needed, at the time I figured it was the attaching room to the primary nurses station, and when I stepped down into the room later I found out I was indeed correct. Whipping my glasses from my pack, I quickly crushed them on, just long enough to see the bold letters on the boxes sides well enough to know we had the room we needed. Without wasting time, we smashed out the glass, cringing at the loud sound it made. Pausing, we waited for any indication of undead activity in the room. Faint moans, and hurried stamping steps exploded into our ears. But nothing pressing, and more importantly, nothing in the room made a sound.

Sure that we were looking at the same deal as the others. We radioed the others, announcing our discovery. Elated at our discovery, Thor and I shared a grin. We we both aching to return home. Like I have mentioned, this raiding party had been both heart-breaking and immensely difficult. We had done what no other settlement (that we were in contact with at least) had managed to do. We had strayed over 200 kilometers from our safe zone, and not only that, but we had also dared to raid a large city.

Our new mates in Surrey, and our old ones in Alberta, a few Rangers shacked up in some mountain ranger stations in Jasper, has said that we had either finally gone bonkers, or had some pretty big balls. Depending on how is look at it, I think it might be both! I mean, Kelowna! Fuck! We could have been completely overwhelmed, hemmed in in seconds. I agree with the reason behind the raid... it is just the place that is impossible not to give me the shudders.

I remember on the third day, when we figured out how to use the CB, and that guy came on the radio. Tom...or Tad? Yeah, it was Tad radioing in from Kelowna. It was his warning, the warning that Kelowna was lost. It had fallen ...so quick and fast, dead in a matter of less then 48 hours. I hate the cities. They are a mockery of all we accomplished. An echo of our old prowess, now a stinking, mouldering ruin. The territory of the dead.

I shook these thoughts from my mind as Thor nudged me with the harness, untangled and ready for me. I quickly stepped into it, securing it firmly and triple checking the tension, tugging on the knots till Thor batted my hands away and turned me around, checking the ropes and the compact lowering contraption we had clampt to the skylights frame. Mirror images of the others around us.

Finally, Thor grumbled into my ear that I was good to go. I gave him a wink and eased myself off the frame, careful to avoid any sharp edges. The last thing I wanted to do was to let the scent of fresh blood in the air.

As I secured the tarp (the way we pulled the supplies we gathered to the surface) to the secondary pullet system at my side.

I remembered why I loved this, it was the best technique of our raiding style. I couldn't help imagining I was James Bond, the silent assassin, lithely streaming down from the roof with effortless grace. Well...let me fill you in on a little something. Hollywood obviously has never tested the truth behind their ten-second stunts. It is jerky and slightly uncomfortable as if you aren't wearing the proper attire ( as I wasn't). The harness tends to bite into the skin. It is also noisy, metal clinking loudly against metal. Leaning back up, I called up softy: "How are we doing?", the only answer I received was a nod and a grunting noise as Thor carefully lowered me another six feet.

A sudden shuffling noise in the room below caused me to tense, immediately my fist came up in a serve chopping motion, holding it by my temple, our signal for an immediate stop and silence. My other hand was no less busy, trying to balance my form on the rope, while searching out and unbuckling my gun from the holster on my left thigh. Aiming downward, past my swinging feet, down at the stock room below. When nothing emerged and the sound did not come again for over a minute and a half I signaled for him to continue, but as he began to lower me again, I used the time to screw on my silencer...just in case.

The view was the same from above, and as my feet touched the immaculate blue and white tile I quickly unhooked myself, looking about for any sign of their presence. The undead's passage can be seen in the most innocent of things. Like a chair knocked askew, to the most gruesome and horrid. Like the splatter of crimson, and their rotten stench as it envelopes your nostrils. An offense to your senses.

Smell was no good in this place, it already reeked of old death. Searching, I noted no sign of them, but I saw their shadows, under the door as they ambled past. An oppressive mass of dark as they wandered. Their heads and shoulders shown through the stock rooms little window. It seemed as though some had made it to the nurses station. Seeking safety, only to turn, or be a attacked later, turning a human have into a zombie's prison.

I ducked just in time as a man's prying face smushed up against the glass. I could hear the soft sliding sounds of his hands as they slid across the door. Before moving on again, disappearing from the small pane of glass. I moved back to the skylight, signaling to Thor that all was still well before moving back and setting up the tarp.

I thought my mind was playing tricks on me as I loaded the tarp up, moving to each pile of boxes, to each cupboard, even rifling through each drawer. I saw flitting shadows, fleeting movements dancing just out of sight. Yep...I definitely had a serious case of the willies. I was finding myself hurrying faster and faster, throwing stuff in clump's into the waiting tarp. My gut was pounding a fierce warning, and if it had been any other situation I would have been outta there in a mere second...but of course, the only time your gut feeling is right, is when you don't listen.

So engrossed was I in gathering as much as I could from my list, that it was about this time that I just about had heart failure. I pulled out the next box in the towering pile, stacked meticulously in a corner, and fell backwards in surprise and fear. We had been so close we could have touched noses...

I couldn't have even been able to utter a cry of alarm as I fell back, hard on my ass, the air whooshing from my lungs as my battered backside met the unforgiving tile, the box flying over my head, clattering into a corner behind me.

When I had lifted the box it had revealed the last thing I would have expected in a cleared room. An undead female, standing listlessly in a small space amiss the cardboard enclosure. She was remarkable untouched, even her uniform was pristine, faded with age of course, but even her name tag was still attached. Judy, it read, flashing a dull gold in the shadows.

Surprisingly though, our bracing encounter had done little to shake her from her seemingly stoic state. She wasn't even looking at me! She was just standing there, staring sideways at a completely blank pile of boxes.

Incredulous I stumbled to my feet, my aim not wavering one millimeter...but my heart beating fit to burst from my chest in fear and confusion. But still, the finger that rested on the trigger hesitated, and did not bear down.

I gazed openly at this demon. Watching as it's roving gaze trailed along the box labels, till it's milky gaze rested upon me. We stared at each other for what seemed minutes, until her eyes suddenly narrowed, focusing on me for the first time. What disturbed me the most was there was a frighteningly familiar expression flitting darkly across her mottled face. Confusion. She squinted at me, like a far-sighted person might to make out what lay before them.

Searching...looking...straining...

What did she seek? ... And more importantly...How?


	40. Chapter 40

**All Standard and Previously stated repetitive disclaimers apply. AKA. Don't be naughty and steal!**

**Reviews:** Please and Thank you. As many have said, it means a lot, not only to my ego, but it truly helps me improve my writing skills.

**A/N:** Okay, time to finish this little aside and get back to the main plot. I am introducing a new character soon…so we shall see how that goes down!

**A/N:** I almost peed myself this evening. For some evil, evil reason. **All** of the 39 chapters of my documents, of "A Nightmare walking" is missing from my computer. I just cannot wrap my head around it. All 39 chapters are simply gone. So I raced to the website, to make sure all my chapters were still do, thank God they were. But…I am still very upset! I JUST DON'T GET IT!!!!!!

I was so intrigued by this strange…dare I say…almost human-like behavior that I inched closer, looking intently at this demon. Could it be? Could she really remember her human life? What could it be feeling? Could this be a cure? …Or maybe like any virus, was it finally burning itself out, running it's natural course to its final end?

Could this be the end? My mind raced with these thoughts and more. Despite myself, excitement pulsed in my breast. Oh! What a miracle it would be to finally be free in our world again!

Cautiously, my gun still steady, I looked across at her intently. She looked different from the rest. I couldn't entirely classify her look. It was too human to risk naming…to risk hoping for.

Now her eyes rested firmly on me. Her mouth hanging limply open in a surprised "o". Longing evident on her face. A longing so different from the hungry, desperate lusting of the starving undead. No. This was a much deeper longing. One that was expressed in every wrinkle, and every feature on her face. Her palms still brushing restlessly over the printed names on the boxes. Names which she used to know so very well all those years ago, but now they are as empty and blank to her as sound is to the deaf and the written word is to the blind.

Suddenly, her face morphed, a surprised expression rapidly changing a look of great pain. "What is it? ..What's wrong" I whispered in horror and awe, as her arms spasmed, her head dropping limply, lolling on her shoulder. Those restless, searching fingers going limp and still.

Slow seconds passed by unmarked. I resisted the insane urge to poke her with my gun barrel. A low growl suddenly issued from it's throat. I stepped back quickly, thinking, (quite rightly in fact) that this could not be good. My mind was working frantically. Where to go? What to do? Should I shoot her know? Yes! …NO! Wait! She could be the answer! That missing link?! My mind raced, the finger on the trigger quivering indecision as I watched those grey fingers clench powerfully, making angry fists.

The last thing before her grey form launched itself towards me, was muttering: "Oh shit!" As she head snapped up. A demon and undead monster once more. She leapt up, jumping over her enclosure of boxes, connecting with me in a mid-air wrestling match. My quick shot knocked wide by her flailing body. The gun flung out of my grasp as we crashed to the ground. Both scrabbling against the other for the upper hand.

I cried out in pain as the broken shards of glass from the smashed skylight cut messily into my body. The sharp little pieces digging into my back, slicing my arms. Crunching underneath us as we fought. I couldn't tell if I had been scratched by her or not. I was more concerned with keeping her snapping teeth away from my throat. She gurgled in frustration as I finally grasp her wrists. Locking them in place in a grip that I poured all my strength into maintaining. It would all be over if she got loose. I hissed in pain as her flinging heels caught me in the thigh, grinding the stinging shades into my flesh.

Suddenly, despite the gravity of the situation, I was flung back in time by an incredibly strong sense of de'avu. I looked over into her snarling, drooling face, and remembered a young blood-soaked red-head in sky-blue pyjamas, writhing with me on a hardwood floor, a butcher knife digging into my side.

But this was one more heavy set, and I was force to roll her over, trying to find a way to reach my gun. Ignoring the stabbing pain the pulsed through my body. Not wanting to think what it could mean… But like that time, I wanted every minute of my life. I'll be damned if this big-assed bitch was going to steal from me, whatever precious moments I had left.

I wrenched myself into a sitting position, the blood from my wounds tingeing the tile at my knees. Now I was straddling her struggling form. There was no sign of that human-side now…only the hunger. Only the single-mindedness of the undead. Finally spoting my gun, I swiftly dug my knee into her crotch, the only place I could reach with my knee, hoping to momentarily stun her as I rolled over her, mindless of the glass digging…stinging. Diving for my gun, and turning towards her again in one smooth motion. Pulling the trigger as she knocked me flat, in a quarter-back like tackle. I cried out, freaking out as her bloody, unclean body hung limply over my own. I crawled out from under her, and fired round after round into the prone body. Stilling it's movements until my barrel clicked empty.

My eyes feeling too wide for face. My entire body pulsing and tingling. I shoved the gun into my hip holster, stumbling, and falling in a pool of my own blood as I scrabbled over to the tarp. Barely registering the pounding of the undead at the door, or the faces and the shouts of all my comrades above. Closing the tarp. I grabbed the rest of the boxes and stuffed them into my small personal sack, then. Strength failing, and eyes dulling, loosing light, as I pulled the straps of the harness tight, and felt the jerk of the harness pulling at my blood soaked thighs. Then the cool breeze on the sticky face…and then safety.

I was roughly pulled from the harness, and dumped unceremoniously on the hot tarmac roof. Trying to make sense of the babble of voices around me. Trying my best to answer those half-understood questions, somewhat clearly, and failing with flying bloody colors. We left then, they passed me, stumbling through the trucks roof to Joe's waiting arms, and he supported me to the trailer. I don't remember what we said, he later told me he couldn't get a lucid thing out of me, other then. "Sorry…sorry. She was different, human."

The next time I came too, I was strapped down tightly to the blood stained sick bed that we kept in the trailer for just such as occasion.

There was a flurry of activity around me. Half-shadowed figures, loading guns, prodding, babbling, poking, and undressing me. Tending to my wounds, but staying away from my teeth. It I had been lucid enough, I would have been screaming in fear, the chances were high I was going to turn. No one could tell if the wounds were from her, or the glass. And there was so much damage done I was a wreck. It couldn't, with certainty say if she had got me.

They gave me heavy sedatives to keep me calm, and quiet while we travelled home. I only remember the smell of that horrid porridge Judy force-fed me. That and the stifling heat. It was so oppressive and sickly warm…that I was sick. Maybe it was also from the fever and fear, but get sick I did. I puked on myself on the second day, Joe rushing to my aid so I didn't drown in my own bile. I think I puked on him too, he took it like a champ.

The rest of the journey, I don't really remember. Well, at least we know the sedatives work. The next time I became aware of everything was coming to in the little cot in the pit. The Pit is created much like an oval amphitheatre. The possibly infected victim is brought into the concrete building, through a thick metal door, and the door is barred behind them (a guard stationed there, just in case). This is the part were you understand why it is called the "Pit". Another floor, with railings and a mini kitchenette is present far above the lower floor, situated at least 10 meters above the concrete prison. I have to crane my neck to see the railings above me. It is like how I said, a Roman amphitheatre, as those above you, watch you intently. And you fight for your life, against a demon that lies within...or just the human fear of what could be. Regardless, it is better to stay safe, then sorry.

I woke with one hell of a headache, and a throbbing back. Bandages covered my back, to my legs, and thickly wrapped about my hands. Kirren was there when I came too, his rifle in hand. "You really did a number on yourself this time." He commented dryly. I only waved my hand above my head irriatedly, waving his comment away. The smart ass.

When we got over our usual pleasantries, I found out the mission had been a rip-roaring success. And that I was once again considered the hero. I sighed at that, that would mean all my 'escapades' would be repeated again and again over the dinner tables, over the celebratory beer and bbq's. Adding this one to a myriad of my stories. Which in my opinion, are overly exaggerated tales. Kirren only grinning down at me in good humour. He was probably one of the only ones other then Thor, Richard, Rachel, and Joe that treated me like a regular member. Kirren tells me my head is swelled up enough as it is. He is probably right. The fact is, I guess my survival story, my hand in the creation of this place, and my place in the Hunters, is known as something of an urban legend. It is kind of embarrassing, but at the same time, leaves me with a soaring feeling in my breast.

I felt a cold chill course through me while we talked. Reminding me of the gravity of my situation. I really might be infected. Oh god. Kirren and every single guest I have had has acted like this is a non-issue. As though I am too strong and too damn stubborn to die. And they won't hear a word of it otherwise. Finally after two days of brooding, I called Kirren in to see me privately. And as he leaned over the railing, listening. I leaned back in the bed, wrapped in the warm blankets and told him everything. I alone trusted him, he would know what to tell the others, and what to keep private. But I needed someone else to know my story, to know my heart. As, I know not if this manuscript will ever see the light of day if I perish. Like all great kings, poets, and writers, were their stories and works were so often lost to the sifting sands of time.

There is something uniquely comforting to know that someone else knows me. That some part of me will live on in the Sanctuary's stories. Then, comforted, I dropped the last bombshell. I wanted him to be the one to do it, and I want him to use Dan's rifle. It was fitting to me to be ended the same way I ended my mentor. I realize the act itself is almost a crime to ask of a man that trained me. That to a significant part, created who I am today. A man, like Thor, that has seen me at my very worse, crying, screaming, and blubbering. But also at my very best. Both morally and professionally.

Like many. Kirren lost his entire family. He is a private man, but once he told me a few whispered, grief induced memories. He came home from work, still in his military dress, briefcase in hand, and watched as his wife of over six years tearing into his flailing, screaming mother. The broken body of his closest friend draped over the cracked coffee table, like a sacrificial offering to some long dead deity. Stirring slightly …coming back to life once more. Oh yes, we are no strangers to loss and horror. To grief and misery. But we are also familiar with honour and respect. So, I know, that no matter what his feelings might be, I knew he would honour my request. He left tight-lipped and silent. Never asking me why I chose him. And I was glad.

But enough of all that depressing stuff. The days passed slow and long. Rachel came in often to fill me in on all the goings on. She was excited as she could be. On her hikes since we had been gone, she had found some sort of archaeologist's wet-dream. One, in the form of what she figured was an old Native hunting camp. So we happily chattered about it. The conversation ebbing and flowing as we switched to remembering the lectures our old archaeology courses we took in our second year.

But when the visitor's leave, taking with them their forced smiles and false cheeriness. I am left alone in the semi-darkness, left to my own dark thoughts. Where my imagination tends to run rampant, and my fear growing inside my belly. Coiling and twisting in it's dark knots, with no way; being stuck here, to quell it. I am just glad, as I write this, that the others are not here to witness my fear. Weakness.

And as the pen scratches comfortingly along this lined paper, I know that though, I may die. It would be a death for the good. A sacrifice to the well-being of this place. The place I set out to find, and had a hand in creating.

And as I close off this account, marking my sixth night this is dismissal tomb, I send a prayer up, hoping God is listening with a favourable ear. Please……Please do not let my time draw near. I want to live. Even if it is on this retched land, full of death and the dieing. Full of the torn families, and the mourning wails that still echo through these concrete halls. Please…let me live, so that I can help us. And more then anything…please. End this, and bring our world out of this consuming darkness….We want the light again….


	41. Chapter 41

**All Standard and Previously stated repetitive disclaimers apply. AKA. Don't be naughty and steal...CAUSE I never stole this!**

**Reviews:** Please and Thank you. As many have said, it means a lot, not only to my ego, but it truly helps me improve my writing skills.

**A/N:** Okay, time to finish this little aside and get back to the main plot. I am introducing a new character soon…so we shall see how that goes down!

**A/N:** I almost peed myself this evening. For some evil, evil reason. **All** of the 39 chapters of my documents, of "A Nightmare walking" is missing from my computer. I just cannot wrap my head around it. All 39 chapters are simply gone. So I raced to the website, to make sure all my chapters were still do, thank God they were. But…I am still very upset! I JUST DON'T GET IT!!!!!! Odd Odd Odd. If anyone knows why they might be disapearing on me, please pm me eh?

It has been hard to get a moment alone today. There has been so much going on, the whole community relied into an excited tizzy. The dawn of my first day, peeked cold, but sunny, as it so often does in the mountain mornings of summer. I had not slept through the night, but upon the beeping alarm of my watch, the glowing numbers illuminating the time. 6 am on the dot. The number seemed much more then just a mere meeting of the ticking hands on my watch-face. No. It meant more then that. It meant humanity...it meant freedom. And most of all, it meant I was still here. My week of incarceration had passed and I was deemed clear and clean once again.

I swung slowly off my bed, crunching my toes together tightly to ward off the abrupt chill of the concrete against my bare toes. Wrapping the blanket around me tightly, and walked to the door, timidly knocking the correct code on the door. There was a pause, and a muffled question. Then the door swung open, startling me as the light flooded in, the morning sun bright and burning against my eyes. Flinging out a hand to covering my desensitized eyes, I felt a strong arm hold my own for support. 

"I knew it! I knew it!" Thor crowed in triumph, minutes later as he escorted me down the long halls of the main complex, to my room. The pouf had kicked the guard off duty half-way through the night, taking his place. The big softie. But I only smiled, wincing though as his loud, voice echoed the corridors. Causing people to stumble, sleeply out of their rooms, alert...or I should probably say, at the very least, ready for danger.

The greetings and well wishes caused my cheeks to glow and flush, and they continued till I finally raised my voice over the din. Yelling that I was off to shower before I killed them all with the ripeness of my body odor. There were no showers in the 'Pit'. Cat-calls and jokes echoed down the corridor after me until I finally shooed Thor from my side and closed my door. Ah...the relief was palpitable..Finally alone.

Gently I shucked off my clothes, mindful of my injuries. Leaving a dirty trail of garments to my small bathroom. I flicked on the lights, they flickered a few times, but stayed on, the sickly yellow glow of the overhead light, casting everything yellowish and orange. Thank god for the small mercys. Flinging my bra dismissively to the side, I inspected myself in the full-length mirror.

I had gotten used to the sight of blood, cuts, and bruises on my body. It came with the job..or life nowadays. I actually felt a certain sence of pride looking at them. Hard-one trophies. It meant that once again I had beaten them, beaten the odds. But one thing I absolutely could not tolerate was the sight, smell, and feel of an unwashed body. And boy! Did I need a shower! I wrinkled my nose at my reflection, then turned away, unpinned my hair from it's messy ponytail.

Kneeling, I fiddled around with the knobs at the tub, knee's cracking in protest I a knelt again the linoenum. Finally satistified, I turned it on, turning it as hot as I could stand, for once not noticing the crappy water pressure, or the slight rangy smell of the minteral rich water.

I sighed noisy as the hot water hit my front. Gasping in pleasure as the hot spray did it's dual work: purification and relaxation.

For long minutes I simply let it pound over me, leaning my head down, chin to chest, just letting the feeling wash over me, watching the brown and black tingue to the water grow as the droplets skimmed down my skin, dripped down to my feet. God... it felt good.

After giving myself a double dose of hair washing, and a severe scrubbing I felt pleased with myself once more, and wound my wet hair in a warm towel to dry. Filling up the tub with bubbles and warm water, I settled into my small tub for a nice soak. And as I soaked I let my mind reel back to that zombified nurse...and what her behavior might mean. The thought of a cure tinging in the back of my brain like the insistent sting of pins and needles in an idle limb.

Though, my musings didn't get very far, for a soft knock on the bathroom door sounded, followed immediately by a squeaky, excited voice.

"Ashy! Can I come in? Ppppllllllleeeeeease!" I grinned, recognizing Addy's voice on the otherside. And from the sound of it, pressed right against the door's crack, her words muffled slightly by the door. Checking to make sure I was still decently covered with bubbles, I called her in. And she bounced in happily, a bubbly, pig-tailed girl of six, and as cute as sin.

She leaned right over the tub and gave me eskimo kisses till I flickered her with water and she squealed with happy igdination. Addy has aways brought me a lot of joy over the years. I would have kept her if I wasn't going to be away from home so much. Addy, like a few of the children here are total ophrans. It was rare that we found the few we did still alive and suriving, but Addy was one of those lucky few.

I found her two years ago, a little qwivering, frightened, emanicpated, four year old lump, stuffed in a rancid smelling RV abandoned on a side street. The little thing had latched on to me tighter then a wood tick to a dogs rump. And refused to let go. We had been on a mission, one of my first. And on impluse had checked out the vechile, thinking we could at the very least get a quick and easy gas fill-up. But we gained Addy instead. And, for many weeks she would not leave my side. Sleeping with me, following me about the complex, and even pressing herself against the bathroom door worriedly as I did my business.

Thor quickely nick-named her: 'The Bug', for her tendancy to latch on to people. But, once she realized that I wasn't going to abandoned her, nor were we going to cast her from the Santurary's gates she opened right up. Her grim, stotic personality flowering into a bright and blubbly little child. But never did she speak or seem to remember her parents, or her life before the infestation. It is probably just as well.

I was acutally dead-set on keeping her...that was until Beth and Scott joined us. They were rescused from a cabin by the lake in Siccamous in the first six months by another team. They had lost their twin babies, mid-pregnancy a few months before Z-day. And after Beth had been declared unable to carry again. The couples lives had been as barren and desolate as her womb.

I saw their eyes flicker to life as soon as rested on my girl. We had come out to greet the survivors. We had embraced them with open arms and they quickely became part of the family. Scott found himself much to do, having been an Engineer in his old life. Only a week later saw Beth knocking on my door, seeing if I need a babysitter, or if she could have Addy and myself over for a coffee and a juice.

Finally, after a month of such frequent visits. Abby and them becoming much closer, I realized I was simply being selfish. Jealously holding on to the precious little girl who would mean the world to the unhappy couple. The little girl I wouldn't even be around much to raise, and to love. She deserved that, to be loved and to be around people that could always be there for her.

So, even though, the thought of losing her made my heart tighten, and my jealousy spike, I realized that this had to be done. So, I called Abby to me one afternoon, and explained to her, everything I could tell her, everything a girl of six should know, about life, love, and family. I asked her if she would like to have and mommy and a daddy that loved her very much.

She sat as seriously as she could muster, desperately trying to be a 'big girl'. But broke out crying at the thought of leaving me. I shed a few tears myself, but explained to her that both Beth and Scott cared for her very much, and that I would be like a big sister. So, Addy joined their family, and I have never seen such bliss. Like a missing piece of them had finally fallen into place. And that Abby had finally found her niche in the world, fitting into their lives as though she had been born at their sides.

"Mommy told me to give you 'dis tea!" She babbled happily. "She said it was a 'portant job!" She finished, trailing her hands in the foamy bubbles. I smiled and took the thermos from her pudgy little hands.

"You gots boo-boo's!" She commented suddenly, inspecting my chest and arms. "Have you's been fighting? Mommy and Daddy said fighting is bad." She insisted, her long brown pigtails trailing in the sudsy water. I reached over and twisted the pig-tails into a twin braid on the top of her head, and told her that some bad people had tried to stop us from getting some medience. Her eyes lit up, "Dis' you shoot dem'?" She asked excitedly, her green eyes wide.

"Only because they tried to hurt me and Uncle Thor Addy." I told her, reaching for my robe as I made her recite why guns were bad, and not meant for children. Then I told her to wait outside till I got changed.

When I emerged she was gone, the door half open, showing the entire corridor my messy room. Smiling, I closed it and began drying my hair at my desser. Close to ten minutes later I heard her hurried footsteps and the jingle of a collar, before Addy, and Tia in tow, trotted in at her heels.

After being assaulted with doggy kisses, all three of us flopped into bed. Addy braiding up my drying curls as Tia burrowed into my armpit and snoozed away, happy I was back. I usually sent her over to Beth's when I went away.

Evetually, even though it was barely noon, we all napped the afternoon away. Beth is going to murder me. It is currently midnight and Addy is STILL awake. I can hear her all the way in my apartment from theirs, a floor and a bit up.

Well, I suppose I should return to the orginal story, this has deffinatly been a long digression. But I have to say the present has been more on my mind then the past this week. Well, I am going to head down to the kitchens and see if I can scronge up some leftovers, till next time...


	42. Chapter 42

**All Standard and Previously stated repetitive disclaimers apply. AKA. Don't be naughty and steal...CAUSE I never stole this! - Addition: I do not own the CNN show: 'Larry King Live.' I hold no rights or ownership to the company.**

**Reviews:** Please and Thank you. As many have said, it means a lot, not only to my ego, but it truly helps me improve my writing skills.

**A/N:** Okay, **back to the main action again! ZOOOOOM!** I am introducing a new character soon…so we shall see how that goes down!

**A/N:** Also, I made a favorite character poll with that new POLL option. But I have no idea how you as a poller gets to it. AKA. Someone fill me in, then poll it up k?!

Psssssssst! Guess whose back this chapter?!?!

After we lost Trent, we traveled again in silence. The car suddenly felt much emptier and strained. A stretched silence. I kept waiting for the explosion. I looked in the back mirror, glancing back at the truck behind us. Rachel was struggling to handle the gears of Dave's truck. I couldn't even drive standard... Dave was still leaning, slumpt on the window, cheek sliding slickly on the window, eyes hooded. He had been like that since Rachel had gently ushered him in after we had left the scene. Leaving him under the protection of the forest, wrapped in a coarse gray blanket. I felt so wrong leaving him. It didn't seem right that we left him alone.

I felt a stinging in my eyes, but blinked the sensation away. Taking a deep breath, I flickered through the radio channels, trying to find DJ Steve, I needed a reality distraction, and I needed it now. As I searched Thor shifted uncomfortably, even with the seat back all the way, he still had to squish himself into the car. "How much farther?" I questioned, slowing down a little, coasting down the winding forested road. Passing silent cabins, their shadowed windows revealing nothing. "Turn left down the next street. We still have a bit to go." He rumbled. Then, after hesitating he looked at me, his coat bulging, still leaking feathers. "I am, sorry about Trent..." He offered. "He seemed like a good guy."

"He was." I replied. "But I am getting tired of losing the people I care about." I finished, clicking finally to the station, seemingly the only one still broadcasting live. After listening to a few songs, DJ Steve came on. His voice was still vibrant., but one could easily tell that he wasn't doing so hot. His disposition was rather wilted, his voice held a hint of fear. Something that had not been there before. But regardless, he was there, still alive, and still the DJ Steve I remembered from a few days back.

_"Hello listeners, DJ Steve here. It is the 6th day of this screwed up situation. 6 days since Z-Day. And I am __still__ here. Now... in one way this is a good, lovely thing. AKA: I am still ticking. But in a whole different way it's the balls...yes the BALLS. And it is because of all of YOU. YES YOU GUYS. No one has come and saved my precious ass yet." ... "Not that I blamed them."_

He paused, words tinged with despair. Thor and I looked at each other at her words, each imagining our own separate picture of his situation. All I could imagine was a crowding sea of undead, pounding to get in, surrounding the station. I wondered how he was keeping them at bay. Getting back to the broadcast I caught something about: "_The questionable condition of the pickles in the staff fridge." _I could only smile.

_"Well I suppose I should let you know the latest shit on the proverbial shit list."_

_"Point A: We are in deep..deep shit."_  
_"Point B:We have zombies."_  
_"Point C: Combine point A & Band that equals extreme badness."_  
_"Point D: They are not going away."_  
_"Point E: This is also very bad."_  
_"Point F: I am hungry."_  
_"Point G: They are smelly and don't keep their hands to themselves. IE: See my dented truck."_

_"Point H: My partner here does not want to stay put."_  
_"Point I: Callers and the TV, before it went out say that only a head shot puts them down for good."_  
_"Point J: I am getting bored here."_  
_"Point K: I am also running out of points."_  
_"Point L: All the safe houses and police safe points are overrun. Your best option is to try and make it on your own. The military wants me to encourage you to seek them out for protection. But, the last squadron that I had contact with fizzled out on my two days ago. So much for hitching a ride...Bugger."_  
_"Point M: It would be cool if I could stretch these points into an alphabet."_

_"Point N: As you might know this infection is not selective to British Columbia... this is widespread people! All of Canada, and the USA are wiped. Guess what people? All__those 'phony' news reports were true! These last three months or so where China had internally closed themselves off from the world, then Russia... then__spreading down through Europe...Yes people. Those reports of an incredibly contagious disease? Yeah, this is it. BINGO! DING! DING! DING! We win the__grand prize! ...A SHIT load of these mother fuckers."_

_"Point O: And what did our government do? What did the States government do? Oh...well I'll tell you! They shoved these reports aside. Instead, they tried to force their way into these countries that had closed themselves, trying to stop the spread. But no...we tried our best. Poking and prodding, trying to worm our way inside, to get the trade and exports going again. These fucks didn't have any idea what they were fucking with apparently. Probably how it spread so fast..."_

He mused, continuing minutes later with more of his points.

"Did you pay attention to the reports? I asked Thor, trying to break the silence. "Nah. I listened, but didn't think much of it till there was a report of it in Washington. I thought it was just another outbreak of SAR'S or something. Just media hype." He replied. I agreed. I remembered those reports. Only a week previous I had watched on CNN as one scientist came on the air. Doing a show with Larry King himself, where questioned and seriously doubted the creditability of the reports of a SAR'S-like disease acting the eastern countries. He argued that SARS was not as fast acting as this disease was reported to be. He went on to say SAR'S could not be enough to force them to close their country off from the rest of the world in less then a week. He continued, presenting a very interesting and disturbing observation. The many signs of SARS were missing. The presence of dead birds for instance. They were entirely missing.

That broadcast had brought on a lot of controversy. I wonder what that scientist thought on the dawn of the day they entered his life, and broke it into a thousand gleaming pieces.

"_You know what entirely blows?" _DJ Steve continued. _"I had a hot date set for yesterday. This chick, I swear was..." _As he continued on, I turned the volume down slightly and made the left turn smoothly, the snow crunching audibly under the tires.

"Okay, now it is the last house, the farthest in the bush." Thor replied, shifting slightly to peer out the passenger window. I focused again on the task at hand, alert for any sign of the undead. I rolled down the window and signaled with a pointed finger to Rachel, showing her we were close.

When we pulled into the yard. I wasn't entirely surprised by what I saw. The yard looked like a junk heap. Rusted out husks of cars, and trucks, the naked skeletons of old trucks, and failed projects, strewn about the yard, submerged in fluffy snow. And the small smoking crater smoldered where a shed seemed to have stood.

Whoa. I raised my eyebrows and readied my gun. "Well this looks promising." Dave snarled, sneering in my direction. But I paid him no attention as I looked at the house. Even from this distance I could see the massive pile of junk in front of the door, a messy barricade. The door, and the entire front window to the left were completely covered in thick plywood sheets. Nice set up really. This guy, Loopy Lee seemed to have had warning. Thor later told me, that that barricade and plywood had been up for over two years... Lee really was off his rocker.

"Guys! Come here quick!" Rachel called from behind a snow-mound beyond the crater. She stood, a few meters back, holding a rusted, but sturdy looking shovel. Mouth-set, and eyes hard. A female zombie, blackened and bloodied from the blast lay, wiggling on the muddy ground. It struggled and struggled, vibrating and shaking, but it could not make it's way up. It snarled when it noticed us, but still could not get up. I turned away quickly, she had been someones daughter, someones girlfriend, a granddaughter. She had been someone to somebody.

"Put her out of her misery." Thor said quietly, looking at Rachel, "Save the bullets." Rachel looked down at the writhing she-beast, then over to me. Squared her shoulders and brought the shovel down swiftly a few times till she stopped growling, and finally lay still.

"Hey, I found his cellar." Thor called, sweeping the piled snow off from the thick wooden door trap. "Who even has one of those any more?" I questioned in disbelief. The door was locked, but Thor made short work of the chain, breaking it in half with a might jerk, the seemingly iron-strong ringlets flinging metalically all over the place. With a grunt he lifted it up, letting the door rest on the ground, the hinges screeching in protest. I jogged quickly back to the car for a flashlight. I knew that mini spotlight would come in handy someday.

I took the lead down the surprisingly sturdy wooden steps. As we went down, I wondered why I didn't just let someone else lead. I am tired of loosing people. In a way, I blamed myself for Trent's death. I know it sounds dumb, as I know, that it wasn't MY fault. But, he was following my lead and it got him killed. Maybe if someone else led...?

The cellar reminded me of how the "Root Cellar", a book I had read in elementary school had been described. Long shelving units lined the walls, filled with any assortment of canned goods and odds and ends. As I turned around the next corner I did a double take. Rachel bumped into me, and peered around me, letting out a long whistle. "Holy Shit sticks." I exclaimed in awe...


	43. Chapter 43

**All Standard and Previously stated repetitive disclaimers apply. AKA. Don't be naughty and steal...CAUSE I never stole this! **

**Reviews:** Please and Thank you. As many have said, it means a lot, not only to my ego, but it truly helps me improve my writing skills.

**A/N:** Also, I made a favorite character poll with that new POLL option. But I have no idea how you as a poller gets to it. AKA. Someone fill me in, then poll it up k?!

The entire span of the far wall was covered in clusters, upon cluster's of weapons. "This guy was sure prepared.." I breathed, trailing my hand across the dusty bins and boxes. Spotting a wheel barrow, I wheeled it over and put Thor in charge of making sure we had the correct ammunition, and left him and Rachel to their gathering, advising him to take as much as we could carry, including extra guns. Tacitly not mentioning, that for the moment, I had no idea what went with what.

In the meantime I perused the shelves looking for other things we could use, and my eyes widened as I inspected a metal cannister that lay, dented on the ground, the lid half off. Dave, who had followed me, knelt down beside me, "Are these what I think they are?" I half whispered. "Grenades, unbloody believable!" Dave replied, and for a minute his eyes leapt back to life.

"I guess we know how that crater got there!" I crowed excitedly. How many people you know have gotten to fire a grenade?! Carefully I scooped them up and put them in the wheel barrow. Moving on down the racks in search of more treasures.

In under an hour and a half we had been and gone. Not seeing one glimpse of our half crazed benefactor. And for that I was grateful, I doubt he would have reacted well to us rooting through his carefully hoarded supplies. But strangely, I didn't feel one bit of guilt. And that would have worried me if I hadn't been so focused.

From there, nothing of huge interest occurred for over two days. We drove and drove trying in vain to reach that elusive back road. The one road that would lead to the beginning of our freedom from this mess. And unfortunately, the only one who had any inkling of understanding how to get there had been Trent. Talk about putting all your eggs in one basket...

At the end of the second day the weather turned nasty and we had to backtrack to find ourselves a suitable house to take shelter in. And the days past. Slowly.

Everyone was tired, grouchy, scared, and nearing the end of their patience. After scouting ahead day after day, Thor and I were still at a loss for where the road was.

One day, the six day since we came to be here, I waited till Thor went into the garage, after another fruitless day, before I kicked the cruiser hard, yelling in frustration. The days had past, and we had failed to find the road. Every unmarked road we trundled down gave us a thrill of hope, only to be dashed when it ended at a field, a house, or a far-flung industrial building. I kicked the car again for good measure, and beat my first on the hood. We were so close! I could feel it! Just one measly road separated me from getting us to safety. I almost wished a zombie would appear, so I could take out my frustrations on it. Almost.

"God fucking DAMNITT!" I yelled again, listening as the mocking echo of my words repeated in the winter air, my breath visible as I slammed the car door shut. I stared out down the long driveway. We had picked this house because it was made of brick, it had only two small ground floor windows, and rested on top of a long driveway. It was reasonably defensible. The power had gone out three days ago, but the water and plumbing still worked.

We usually sat in the car after darkness fell, able to search no more in the darkness. Finding that we suddenly had an abundance of free time. Having no tv, or internet access, and nor did we have the heart to play cards in the candlelight. So we would listen to DJ Steve and to the crackly CB. Listening as the hordes moved and got bigger, listening as people pleaded for help, or reported undead movements and safe-houses. We tried contact the men we had talked to first, but to our knowledge they never came on again, and no one knew of any such road, or indeed any weather-station. So our hopes continued to plummet with each passing day. Thor and I would return in the late evenings, greeted by Rachel and Dave's half-hopeful faces, only to have to shake our heads grimly.

I was beginning to detect an almost palpable feeling of resentment and barely checked-in fear and impatience. Turning my face upwards, I took in the darkening sky. "God..." I murmured. "If you are still listening..Please...please help us. I just want to get my friends to safety. I need this, we need this. I need something of our world to live on..to survive.." Feeling distinctively small and unnoticed, I turned stiffly, slinging Dan's rifle over my shoulder, and followed Thor inside.

The kitchen was candle-lit, the flickering flames casting dark shadows across the room. Rachel looked up as I entered, unsmiling, but seemingly deep in thought as she sat up on the counter-top eating cold Kraft dinner. Motioning towards the pot sitting beside her, I reached for a spoon and dug in. "Where's Dave?" I asked between mouthfuls. "Out with Thor on the deck. They are trying the other propane tank he found in the shed on the BBQ, the other ran out around 5pm." She replied, pausing for a moment before continuing: "No luck again, Thor already told us." She informed me, peering at me from her curtain of black hair until I finally looked at her.

"Whats on your mind Rach?" I asked quietly. Already racking my brain for counter-arguments, I had a feeling I knew what was coming. "Well, it's just..well. Dave and I have been thinking Ash, maybe it's time to think of other options. As far away as this house is. It isn't safe enough. We should maybe consider giving up and maybe going back to Salmon Arm. I am sure that-." She explain, but I cut her off in mid-sentence, sliding off the counter to face her.

"Have you gone MENTAL?!" I practically shrieked. Of all the things I had thought this might have been about, I definitely had never even imagined they might want to take their changes back in the cities. "The cities are death traps Rachel! You've heard it. Salmon Arm, and every city and town is full of them. They will swarm the car, and even if we do get in..What the fuck do you think we should do? Go home and make a bloody cup of tea...just wait for this whole thing to blow over! Is this what you actually think?!" I finished incredulously. My voice raised, hands moving with my words, and breasts heaving with adrenaline.

"Well it would be a far better plan then just driving around, wasting gas, looking for a road that probably doesn't even fucking exist." Dave retorted from the doorway. His voice hard, arms crossed and gazing at me confrontationally. "Dave..." Rachel began, caution tingeing her tone as she looked from Dave to me.

He strode forward till he stood in front of me. He stood so close I remember feeling deeply uncomfortably as he towered over me. I remember that I could smell the bite of alcohol on his breath. And the crisp smell of the outdoors, and the salty stains of shed tears, visible on his unshaven cheeks and dirt streaked sweater.

"**No!** Don't you defend her Rachel. This is her fault. She got us in this mess. Now Trent's dead. And this 'road' doesn't seem to exist! I want to know what she has to fucking say for herself!"

And the room went absolutely dead silent...


	44. Chapter 44

**All Standard and Previously stated repetitive disclaimers apply. AKA. Don't be naughty!**

**Reviews:** Please if you don't mind. I mean, this is my 44th chapter, but now more then ever I need your support and advice so the quality of my story doesn't start to decline or anything.

A Nightmare Walking – Chapter 44

I excepted to hear someone gasp, just like in the movies, where the girl makes this adable, horrified gasp as the story revealed it's shocking climax. But instead, Rachel simply stared at Dave, flabbergasted. Dave suddenly refused to meet my eyes, looking at his hands. And Thor listened from the doorway Dave had recently abandoned, but the shadows masked his expression.

I myself could hardly form a coherent though in my mind. Anger and hurt rose in my heart like an ocean tide enveloping the sand. I wanted to scream, I wanted to just collapse on the cold tiles and cry till I felt sick. Now, more then ever, I wished Richard was by my side, here to hold me, to support me, to make me feel safe. I wanted him be here to make the ghosts of my parents, my sister and my friends disappear from the dark edges of my mind. To leave me to mourn them as the people they were, not the people they had likely become. I wanted to forget every single one of them I killed, and every single one I passed, still alive and pleading for help in the imagined protection of their rooms. Eying that single door that when ripped open, expelled them all into their own private hells. I never saw mine coming. Instead I am living it. And now, he had the audacity...the balls.. to imply...how dare he!

"What do I have to say for myself? I repeated, the words coming out in a hiss of anger. "What do I have to say for myself?!" I spat. My fists clenched, my face tight. "I have nothing to say for myself. Nothing that you deserve hearing." I snapped, moving forward till I stood right in his face. I have never felt like this before, never felt such rage, such justified anger. The resentment and fear boiled over me, coursing through me like dark poison, giving me strength under the despair, under the uncertainty and fear. I had to restrain myself from punching him, from lashing out at him, as though it might somehow justify my feelings.

"I never thought I'd make it past my first hour! Oh I wanted to stay, I thought my home would be safe..secure. That is until I saw a horde in front of my neighbors home, punching out the glass and climbing inside. I heard their screams Dave. Oh yes, they had two kids. You know, I only figured out later, it was their mother I saw first. In a bloody nightgown Dave, one of them, pounding on my door? So, I left my house, and found once I was driving that somehow, amazingly, I WAS STILL ALIVE." I stated, voice cold, and weighing him in my eyes. I turned my gaze on Rachel next. "I got your phone call, I risked EVERYTHING. Everything to get to you. Dan died, saving me. He died to save us all. You know, he went home, tried to save his wife and child? He got his death wound as they tore into him. And you know what, I tried to get to Karen's work. I had to go through the destruction of neighborhoods I have known since elementary school. I watched as people were plucked from their cars, taken down fleeing in the streets, or attacked in their homes. I drove through mobs of those fuckers. Mobs. They broke the windshield. What! Do you think I got those wounds any other way?! I barely escaped with my life! They pressed down, reaching in, the smell...God!" I yelled, stamping my feet and flinging my arms about before continuing. "Then there are the people. I got shot at by our own. They would have killed me."

"The cities are dead." I stately flatly, pausing as I let my eyes rest on each and everyone of them. "They are death-traps. The largest concentrations will be focused in and around the cities and towns. You go in, I guarantee you will die. You might just be lucky enough to make it in, I doubt it, but say I let you off on that one. Say you do get in, make it to your house. They will find you. No house will keep them from you forever. They will break down each door, every barrier. You might die from their hands, your own...Maybe even from starvation, or dehydration. But which one first? Yes. Yes!... What happens when the food in your kitchen and basement, dries up. What then?" I scoffed, my tone turning harsh and accusing.

"No place is safe anymore. I will not guarantee that you will live if you stay will me. But I can guarantee the odd are better. The farther we are from the cities, the safer we will be. The more room we will have to move, live, and gather what we need. Food comes in a various forms, whether from a can or from the forest. When the water lines break down, well there are other ways." I stated, looking at each again, both wouldn't meet my eyes, but Thor was now smiling grimly.

"And if this weather station is out here. Then it is worth it. Worth everything to find. It is worth our lives to find a sanctuary from this hell. To save ourselves. And I don't care if it takes every goddamn drop of gas in the province, I will find this road! It is out here. We are close. I know it." I said firmly, satisfied as they both raised their heads slowly, looking into my eyes again, as though searching me for truth.

"I never asked to be made leader. In fact, I didn't want to be. But it fell on me to do it. And I so far, we are still here. We have a plan." I stated, my voice getting quieter. "Trent...Trent was a terrible accident. Words cannot describe the loss I feel, and I know I will never feel the full measure of his loss as you do Dave...But know this, we have all lost. My parents..my sister, my family, Joe, Richard, hell..even Willy. Dan... everyone. Rachel...your mother, and all your sisters. Dave,your brother...parents... And Thor..." I broke off, looked toward him.

"My sister...and her finance, my best friend." He rumbled, face pained. The first time I could recall his features being twisted so.

"We have all lost. Everyone still surviving right now in this world is as broken down and desperate as we are, they have all lost...cried." I said, wiping away my own as they began to tumble down my cheeks till I could taste the salty tang of them. Bitter. Just like me.

"Now." I began again, my voice slightly shaky. "If you want to go, to go back to the city. I can't stop you. I except you to come to a decision by tomorrow morning. But know this, everything I told you was true, everything you have heard on the radio, or seen on the CB...Well thats all only going to get worse as more people are killed. Do you really want to be there...think about it and you will see that the country and the mountains as the safest place outside of space right now. Think about it." I finished, almost out of breath. But I held my head high as I stalked out of the kitchen. Through the living room, pausing to glance at the walls. Walls lined with pictures, a happy couple portrayed as each year passed and they grew comfortable in their old age. Those pictures mixed and mingled with the images of disfigured corpses, moaning and slouching. Until I quickened my pace and reached my room, clicking it shut before I crossed to the small bed, folding in on myself until I curled up into a ball, resting against the wall and the stark duvet. Then, I just sat, and let the tears come.

Sometime later, when the sun had completely dipped below the hills, I sleepily uncurled myself from my bed, my face feeling swollen and tight. And I walked to the attached bathroom. Lighting a candle, I was suddenly glad I couldn't see the entirety of my reflection. What I could see was blotchy and red. And my hair..I didn't even want to go there... I soaked a warm face cloth, and gently massaged the soothing warmth into my skin. I opened cabinets at random, and pulling out a number of dusty, but recognizable products. Emerging from a quick, but hot shower, I felt distinctly better. It's amazing what a warm shower could do for ones spirits.

I curled my toes as I walked across the cold carpet, my body wrapped in a towel, as well as my hair, and carrying the candle into the bedroom again. Sighing, I settled down at the old fashioned bench and mirror, reaching for my brush as I ran it over my hair. Shuddering in discomfort as I wished fervently for electricity. Oh what I wouldn't give for a hair dryer! For all those dumb things that we don't need, but love, and ultimately take for granted.

Sometime later I snuggled into my covers, a light smattering of tears returning as I glanced at the pictures in my cell phone, the battery edging on drained. I knew I shouldn't be wasting power, but god, it felt good to see them all again. Alive. I watched as Richard and I laughed from a still photo, or as Joe gave me his look, the one where he raises his eyebrows and smiles mischievously. I watched my dad driving, listening to his voice as I watched my excitement as I made the first video on my cell phone. Fate was a nefarious old bitch... Such promise, love, and laughter cut out from the world with a single scratch...

Flipping it closed, I held it in my hand, remembering. And stayed like that until a knock on my door sounded, echoing in the silent house. "Come in." I replied. Not caring who it was. But was surprised when Thor ducked inside, holding a tall candle and a tea mug. "Hello." He said simply. As he crossed the room to the bed, graciously not commenting on the fact that my underthings were strewn across the room.

"Drink this." He motioned, handing me a mug, and settling himself on the floor beside my bed. "Does that new propane tank work?" I asked, grasping the mug and downing it in a gulp, figuring it was cold tea. It wasn't. It burned all the way down my throat, sending me into a spasm of violent coughing. Gasping I wrenched myself into a sitting position; then folded over double so that my head rested on the duvet.

"Ouch." I finally croaked out. Feeling the uncomfortable burn in the back on my throat, and the warmth coiling in my stomach. "I hate Whiskey." I gasped, my eyes still watering as I looked at his smiling face. "But 'cha feel much better now, don't 'cha?" He replied, eyes twinkling. "Well, I can't deny that." I managed, in spite of myself giving him a small smile. He nodded, pleased. Then got more comfortable on the carpet.

"To answer your question, yes it does. There is another, about half full in the shed we can use as well. We are okay for a little while. But thats not what I came here to talk about." He rumbled, looking at me earnestly while I tried to disappear into the bed-spread. "They want to leave don't they." I asked. "No...I dunno. When you left, they went separate ways. Probably need to think or some'mat." He muttered, brow furrowed as he talked.

"Look. I dunno what it is like in the bigger towns, but what I saw back there, well. That was enough for me. I just want to say, well. I trust you. And I am staying. Even if there is the slightest chance of finding this road, well. I am with you on it..." He said carefully, meeting my eyes. I was surprised to see a slight flush coloring his cheeks, the weeks worth of reddish beard doing nothing to cover his embarrassment. But it was needless, I had turned as bright red as he, used to such unexpected praise.

We sat in silence for a time. I felt I needed to thank him, to tell him how much his support meant to me. But I was sure if I really meant it. Oh, don't get me wrong readers, I was struck dumb by his support, and was tremendously grateful for what he was entrusting me with. What I wasn't sure of was it I wanted to do this after all. I felt like the world's biggest hypocrite. Here I was spouting all this tripe into their tired ears, when I didn't have one lick to a horses ass where the bloody road was. We were lost, and the only one who wouldn't admit it was me.

But, they shouldn't see my confusion, my fear, or my failing faith. Everything would fall apart worse then it already was. So, instead of speaking my mind, speaking what was weighing heavily on my heart. I thanked him, but as he turned to go, he looked back and could see in his eyes that though he trust me, he knew I was holding back.

When he had closed the door I sighed with relief in the near darkness. I had the particular sense that I was danging on a very thin thread, wondering in tense, breathless silence when it will snap and send me tumbling into oblivion. I almost wanted to fall apart, to emerse myself in my grief. Everyone I had ever known, everything I had ever worked for, loved, liked...or did was all done and gone. All my dreams had been shattered. Everything I had ever tied myself to, my beliefs and my sense of self had been torn away. My faith too had been sorely rattled. I had always taken comfort in the confirmation I felt when I knew just who I was, and what I was. What I felt, knew, wanted, and believed in my core. Now I was full of doubts.

Throwing back the covers, I listened by the door. Nothing. It was late, the CB would be mostly quiet, and Steve would have tuned off. Everyone seemed to be sleep. Everyone except...Aha. The click of nails trotting down the hall made me smile. I opened the door and let Tia in, who happily snuggled into the covers I had abandoned.

Shivering slightly I tip-toed down the hall. The cold biting through the large shirt and shorts I wore. Kneeling down, candle in hand, I gazed out the second floor window. Looking about aimlessly I started when I saw a few ambling shapes. I was struck dumb in surprise for a moment, even though they were on the road I was still surprised. We hadn't seen any for over two days, since Thor had surprised a legless corpse in the cab of an abandoned truck. The front so bathed in red it looked as though twenty people had been butchered instead of one. I myself couldn't rid the picture of the horrid thing from my mind. It's croaking squeal, and it's reaching hands as it tired to untangle itself from the gear-shift, a semi-torn jacket effectively hooking it in place as Thor brought it down with a spearing trust of Rachel's shovel.

Did they smell us? I wondered..Or did something else bring them? To be safe I blew out the candle and let the moonlight guide my way back down the hall. We I grabbed my jacket and a handgun. Then groped my way down the hall, Tia trailing behind me before I knelt by the window to watch.

There were only three that I could see, ambling listlessly, like hounds that had lost the scent of their prey. Suddenly I watched as they stiffened. I could just barely make out their heads snapping up before they raced away, heading back from where they probably had come.

Curious, and slightly worried, I moved to the back of the house, trying to see through the trees. Opening the window I listened and in a few minutes was rewarded. I heard something. The faint sound of a motor. But that wasn't all, in the distance cracked the unmistakable peal of shotgun blasts. Behind me I heard the sound of people moving, and soon Dave and Rachel joined me at the sill.

"Hear that?" I asked. They nodded. Looking at the candle Rachel cupped in her hands, I told her to extinguish it, no need to advertise our position...to whoever, or whatever was out there. Only minutes later bright headlights of a truck shone into view. We couldn't see the truck, but the sheer height of the headlights indicated as much. I sucked in a breath as it slowed to a crawl at the clearing before the house. Had they seen the candles? What did they want? Why did they pause?

"What do they want?" Rachel breathed, I shivered as her breath blasted unexpectedly on my neck. "Who knows." I replied warily, eying the truck which was still moving at a snails pace. Near five minutes later it finally moved away, the clunking sounds of the old gears, uncomfortably loud in the near silence.

"Do you think they were looking for a place to stay?" Dave asked, his voice soft. "Well, they might have been. But right now, we can't afford to have a run in with someone who is unfriendly." I replied, sighing and leaning my back against the wall. When they eventually made their way back to their rooms. I remained, watching and listening till Thor shuffled in around dawn. After telling him what had occurred. I moved to leave, but ended up lying down the the couch, watching the darkened window, and Thor's silhouette in the dim moonlight. And simply waited, curled with my knees to my chin, I listened...


	45. Chapter 45

**All Standard and Previously stated repetitive disclaimers apply. AKA. Don't be naughty!**

**Reviews:** Please if you don't mind. I mean, this is my 45th chapter, but now more then ever I need your support and advice so the quality of my story doesn't start to decline or anything.

A Nightmare Walking – Chapter 45

Strangely I fell asleep almost effortlessly. But my dreams were not as easy. It felt as though I had been pitched back in time. And very suddenly I was sitting at home, in the kitchen, at my seat at the table. Watching my dad. My curious eyes following his back as he moved around. The smell of pancakes reached my nostrils, and I distinctly felt my stomach growl. Never in all of my dreams, have I ever recalled such a thing. Most of my dreams were so far flung and obviously dream-like, but this was one was eerily normal, as though it was like all this had been a bad dream, and that I had just woken up. But yet, something nudged at the edge of my conscious. Something beyond my grasp, but the mere wisp of the thought made the hairs on the back of my neck tingle.

"This is a dream." I stated, my voice echoing strangely around the room. "Yes." He replied, not turning around, but I watched as he hand curled into a fist as his side. "Where are you?" I asked. Again my voice echoing, sounding strangely unemotional. Instead of the shaking, sobbing, confused mess I would have been in. Instead I was calm and collected, simply open and ready to whatever he might say. Such is the usual nature of dreams, reality is always screwed, no matter how real it might seem.

"I don't know." He replied. Pausing to flip the cooking pancakes, the sizzle of the frying batter accompanying his word. "It's not right. But it is. It is like being stuck between two places. But...I feel, more and more. I feel like we are to the right place." He replied, his voice flat, but with a hint of something, some emotion that I couldn't detect.

"I am done." He replied. "Your mother..and sister. We are all done..gone. They are done here, like me." He continued voice unemotional, but his breathing ragged.

"I tried to find Karen..." I began, breaking off as I remembered, the memory was dark and shadowed as I reached for it. "We know." He intoned, voice deepening.

"Turn around." I said abruptly. Suddenly wary. I repeated myself again when he did not respond. "No." He ground out. "Why?" I asked. I attempted to stand, but found that my feet would not move. I struggled, but still nothing budged. Panic began to bubble as I heard the distinctive sound of footsteps on the stairs.

"Let me go!" I cried, finally lapsing into full blown fear."We didn't mean to...We couldn't help it..." My father said eerily. "Turn around!" I screamed, watching as his graying head turned slightly. "I am...I am glad they don't have you...I wish..." He struggled with each word, as though each one was an effort to force out. Finally he stopped, then slowly turned on his heel.

Silence reigned as he turned to face me. Then, it was as though my voice had been loosened, and I screamed and screamed as the body of my father faced me. No longer could I see his face, the face I had known and loved since childhood...no. Now there was only an empty, dark, and evil hole of nothingness placed were his face should have been. His graying hair rimming a circular hole of black, just darkness, and it terrified me.

I wrenched myself away. My legs finally obeying me, and I ran, my lips parted in a wordless scream of horror. I ran, running from him, running past the empty holes that marked my sister and mother as they stood on the landing. Their hands weakly grasping at me, brushing against me. I ran till I reached the door, but flowed through it like air and continued on. Running through the still crowds of hundreds of people, their empty faces turning towards me, following me with those endless dark abyss'. They were empty people, dark people, and so, I ran.

I started awake in what seemed like minutes since I had closed my eyes. A thin blanket made a soft thump as it slid off my lap. Though my dream had been horrific, I felt relieved beyond measure that that terror had not followed me back into this reality. I got up, my back and knees cracking as I stretched.

"Impressive!" Thor called from the deck. "I could hear the echo from here!" I grinned and bounced into the kitchen, pleased in spite of everything. I had always been a morning person. Pouring a cup of tea, the hot water courtesy of the BBQ. I sipped cautiously, but still scalded my tongue. "Anymore on that truck?" I asked, braving the winter chill as I stood just outside of the sliding glass doors, watching as he prodded some eggs in a frying pan on the single burner. My voice was slightly garbled as I tried to sooth my burnt tongue with my fingers.

"I only heard him this morning, never saw him. Sounds like a old Dodge." He replied, eying his eggs despairingly, then poked them again cautiously, as though raw egg was possibly combustible.

"How do you know it's a guy?" I inquired, slightly amused. "Cause it's a big ass truck." Thor replied, as though that solved the matter. "So girls can't drive big ass trucks?" I countered. He looked up, surprised. "No..Well yes? Um. Well not usually?" He admitted.

I chuckled a bit, then said: "Yeah...And by the way." I continued, "I hear things cook better when the burner is actually on." I laughed and flounced back inside, imagining his amazed expression and giggled as I heard him muttering darkly.

On my way back down the hall I heard Dave in the bathroom, the sounds of water splashing and soft humming almost lulling me into a sense of normalcy. Rachel's room was silent, and that too seemed so normal. Going down the side door, I trompt down to the first floor. Fingering my clothes on the rack, I was relieved to find them dry, I had hand washed them with soap and water over two days ago. Again lamenting the lack of electricity and left them to dry. Most of the blood had actually come out...

Quickly I shucked my clothes in the little room, feeling the cold chill from the concrete floor prickle my skin. Letting the borrowed clothes, a man's stripped shirt and shorts that I had been using for pj's fall to the floor while I pulled on a pair of running pants and I zip up sweater, I grinned at the t-shirt I had underneath, the logo baring: "I don't do Mondays!" in blinding pink. I suddenly wondered what day it was.

When I finally made it out to the car, Dave was already inside fiddling with the knobs, bringing up the CB. Surprised, but saying nothing I got in the passenger seat and snapped on the radio. This was the first time since his twins death that he had taken the initiative to do anything. "Morning." He greeted, twisting the knob about to find an active frequency. I returned the greeting and switched on the radio. But only silence buzzed on DJ Steve's station. 'Odd.' I thought, and waited. In the meantime the CB was active. Most of it was fuzzy with interference, but the odd transmission was getting through.

"Oooh here we go." Dave commented, turning up the volume. And a crackling, almost incomprehensible voice came on the air. The quality was so poor that most of the words were drowned out.

"This is---and--Buzzz-crack! - Looking for---Honda..And-buzz. Small-buzz-truck. -Friends- anyone seen-crack. Past Blind Bay in---. Ash- buzzzz! -looking for---crack! Over." Dave and I both whipped our heads up simultaneously. We were so close I look see my wide eyes reflected in his own. Fumbling both our hands shot to the mike, but I beat him to it and grabbed the radio.

"Who is this! We are alive! This is Ashley, hello?! Over." I all but yelled into the mike, almost trembling with excitement. Who was this? Where they really trying to reach us?


	46. Chapter 46

**All Standard and Previously stated repetitive disclaimers apply. AKA. Don't be naughty!**

**Reviews:** Please if you don't mind. I mean, this is my 46th chapter, but now more then ever I need your support and advice so the quality of my story doesn't start to decline or anything.

**A/N:** If you guys haven't clued in, there is about be to be a new character introduced. He had been mentioned in the story before, in one of the future segments. So I might suggest a little re-reading is in order to fully get a scope on the character. (Though really there has only been hints).

**A/N: Sorry for the massive wait guys! School has me under siege. You have no idea how much easier a zombie invasion would be to handle, other then 3rd year university!**

A Nightmare Walking – Chapter 46

We listened with bated breath, straining our ears for a reply. But we were disappointed, nothing but inaudible static met our ears. After waiting, poised in our seats for many minutes, I couldn't take the suspense anymore and bolted from the seat, yelling over my shoulder (carelessly I might add, of any danger that might be lurking nearby) for Dave to stay, in case the mystery person came on again.

I burst into the house, the handgun bouncing in my grip as I tried to secure it in its holster at my thigh. Finally reaching the deck stairs and running up the rickety wood deck steps. I scared Thor half to death as I burst into the kitchen, the mug he had been holding shattered on the kitchen tile, as I ran through the door. Rachel rushed in seconds later, the towel wrapped around her head barely fastened, looking more like a loose pile, then rumpled turban. I explained the situation as I got my breath back, then yelled over my shoulder to get ready to move out, and take everything we had in case we didn't come back this way. It was time it get moving, there was someone out there. Someone that was looking for us! Someone that knew us! Someone we knew that was alive!

I could hardly contain myself. I thought of everyone I had ever known, their faces roaring through my brain like an express train flying out of control. I packed hurriedly and threw my pack over my shoulder. Leaving the door wide open as I hurried out the door. Tia at my heels, barking excitedly, paws flinging wildly in the deep snow.

In twenty minutes we were both on the road, Thor and I in the car, and Dave and Rachel in the truck. First we drove in the direction the zombies had run to, in response to hearing the truck the night before. It seemed like a good place to start as any. The truck had idled quite a bit, it was a good assumption that maybe that was our guy. Problem was, I knew a lot of people with big trucks.

It wasn't long till we found the evidence. Several corpses were splayed out on the road. Flattened, and dirt-encrusted. As I looked out the window, I noticing that the truck had swerved erratically, as though taken by surprise. Then surprisingly, it had reversed, assumability to take out the remainder. I wondered who would stop like that in the height of panic, and go back? Then I remembered, I probably would have too. It's a revenge thing.

I strained my ears for any sound. But it was almost useless, the roaring of the wind blocked out almost all else. The weather began to worsen as noon past by unmarked. In the early evening, we stopped, eating cold snacks in the back on the cruiser, Dave and Rachel in the back of the car one time we stopped, scouring the well-creased map, searching futile for that lost road. We didn't sleep that night, we were too far along the roads, and too weary of the darkened farm houses, or the vacation cabin, candle-lit, but the door open, swaying in the wind. We found a big shoulder on the road, and took turns keeping watch on the top of the truck. I didn't sleep at all, we were so exposed and vulnerable, that I tortured myself, as every rustle, snap, or creak of the forest on either side sounded like them..Even the moaning of the wind chilled my already frigid heart, and still served to speed up my already racing heart. I was sure my heart was going to explode from the sheer terror of it.

The next day, as soon as it was light enough to see, we set out again. Thor drove as I sat in silence, my senses spread as I kept one ear to the window, and the other to the garbled CB. No one seemed to be near enough to make a clear signal. I just prayed we would some sign of our mystery man, as it gave me such hope. Hope for the future, but even more then that, it gave me a personal hope. That if just someone else had made it, maybe we all could.

"Does anyones cell still work?" I questioned half-heartedly as evening neared. We had pulled over in a clearing, bordering the road, and sat in the back of Dave's truck, drinking half frozen juice boxes, and whatever we could scrounge from the snacks we had left. "Mine as a bit of juice left." Thor replied, tossing the cell my way. "Nice." I replied, amused to see we had the same cell. "I have the same one in pink." I chattered. Turning on the phone and waiting as the cheerful, color-filled greeting popped on the screen. When the screen returned to normal, I almost felt guilty for asking. A personal photo, slightly distorted as cell pictures tend to be, displayed a goofy scene. Thor held a grinning man upside down in a snowbank. While the face of a laughing women could be seen, mitts clapped over her cheeks. I eyed Thor sideways, but his head stayed down, emerged in his own thoughts.

"Well..who do I know that has a big truck?" I asked aloud. Rachel looked up from her seat on the floor. She was so wrapped in scarfs and mittens that only her nose, eyes, and a few wisps of black hair escaped. She pulled back the scarf she had been using as a face guard, and spoke. "Joe, Willy's dad..." She said, pausing as Dave spoke up, "I know a few buddies from work with trucks..." And the train of though hung there for a second before a thought occurred to me. "But isn't Willy's dads a Ford?" I asked, raising an amused eyebrow in Thor's direction. Dave made a sound a gagging sound and said incredulously: "You REALLY think Willy would let his Dad even buy a Ford?" I grinned, "You've got a point." I responded. A few names later, Thor put in his two-cents, throwing his fourth juice over his shoulder. "What if it is some we don't know. I mean, you guys were on the radio before you even picked me up...Maybe someone else heard and is just trying to find someone alive...or looking for shelter.." This idea surprised me. I hadn't thought much about the possibility quite frankly.

"Thats true." I allowed cautiously. "But I am going to think illogically, and hope that it isn't. Because I know that I need a hell of a lot of good news right about now." I finished, smiling, and he returned it. "So do I." He grunted, swinging out of the truck box, the entire vehicle shaking and bouncing in his wake. "Hold up!" I called at his retreating back, jumping cautiously down after him. I was unwilling to let anyone out of my sight since Trent.. I could still see him, under that blanket, splayed face first into the muddy snow, the blood rushing to flown down his bare neck...

When I caught up with him, we were nearing some thin brush. "Um.. Where are we going?" I asked, jiggling the flashlight in my pocket nervously. "Well I am going to take a piss...therefore, unless you want to stay for the show, I suggest you stop here." He grinned, with a lecherous wink. I stared at him for a second, mouth agape. Then, surprisingly, laughed. The first genuine laugh I had heard, or uttered for days. I almost startled myself.

"Cheeky bastard." I remembered grumbling as I stopped and watched his progress into the forest. The winter chill seeped through my boots, and I stomped around to keep warm. I wandered to the roadside, shotgun in my hands. The snow had to be at least calf deep on me. I hadn't seen this much snow on city roads since my family lived near a military base in New Found land. Talk about a slow snow clearing service! It was called spring!

I wiggled my toes in my snow boots as I moved out into the middle of the road. It was rare that I could ever catch a sunset, even when things were normal. But now the blood-red hues seemed only too appropriate. I pulled off my hood, and out of habit, ran my hand through my hair, soothing the rambunctious curls as they tumbled forward. The whole moment seemed so surreal...dare I say magical. Not a soul in sight, not a street light, nor house light. Just the snow-covered evergreens, and the sunset. It was like humanity was a myth, some bedtime story for another species.

I was still so caught up in the view that Thor startled me as he came, almost stumbling from the forest in his hurry. I whirled towards him, shotgun raised, braced and at the ready. (I can look on it with pride now, I was getting good. I was more sure of myself, more confident). "Whoa!" Thor cried. "It's just me." "You scared me!" I exhaled in relief. "Did you hear that?" He snapped, his long legs making quick work of the high snow. "What, like the big oaf crashing through through the brush?" I snarked, but looking around all the same. "Funny." He commented, "But no...THAT!" He replied, and my ears finally picked it up. A motor. A loud motor.

My heart sped up as the twin beams of headlights swung into view. "Shit." Thor cursed, as he frantically waved to Dave and Rachel, calling for them to get the cars started. The motor was almost deafening in the woodland silence, the light blinding in the near darkness. In just under a minute the truck moved fully into our view, and began slowing. I could almost hear the thoughts racing through the drivers mind.

Suddenly, under the rumbling motor I caught a few strains of music, and then, it all clicked. The puzzled\ pieces fell neatly into place. I knew this man! I knew him! The little bastard had made it!

Delight and relief soared in my breast, fit to burst with excitement. Moving directly in it's path, I waved my arms and called his name. The truck came to a skidding stop, and the window cracked hesistantly open, I could see the glint of metal in his hands, a gun already aimed.

Then, a face appeared, one I had known since elementary school, a face I had know for over fourteen years, leaned out. His dark brown eyes squinting at me in the near light, his old camo-colored hat barely visible in the dim light. I had to restrain myself from running to him. Instead, I remained motionless, Thor's meaty hand firm on my shoulder, the confused shouts of my friends in the background.

Later, over considerable amounts of Canadian Molson, he would confide in me, that that night, I looked like something out of a myth, like a dream he could hardly dare believe was true, lest he look too close and I fade into nothingness. He lowered his gun slightly, his door creaked nosily as he slowly swung it open. His every movement was tense with caution, his eyes wide. For a fleeting second it felt more like facing a rabid animal, then a man, and a friend.

"Joe?" I questioned, my voice quivering with worry and strain. He stepped forward, a slow and painfully cautious tread. I noticed his hesitation, and more then anything, the limp as he favored his right leg. A weeks worth of stubble covered his cheeks, and from the look of him, about a weeks worth of dirt as well. He squinted at me again, then took another small step. "Ashley? .." He finally choked out. His query a clear question of disbelief, and wonder. And after all this, I could think of nothing to to say. I felt like I could be saying something, something momentous and meaningful. But nothing sprung to mind, so I did the one thing that did make sense. I closed the last few meters between us, and almost stumbled into him. Hugging him for all I was worth.

We stumbled back a bit, before he steadied himself against the truck. Then, after a pause, he returned the embrace. If this had been any other situation, it might have been awkward. As over the fourteen years I had known him, before this point, I had maybe hugged him twice. We were childhood friends, but we expressed our affection through truck rides, movie marathons, and beer. But all the norms were forgotten, and it just felt right.

"I can't believe it." I whispered. "You made it!" I exclaimed, after pulling away and looking him over. He looked like death warmed up. And he apparently felt like it as well, as for when he took his next step, he buckled suddenly. Thor caught him before he fell, and between us, we half-dragged him over to Dave and Rachel. We had all had a chance to greet him properly, I made sure Thor had been introduced, after he had been well plied with water and snacks, he finally spoke.

"I can't believe it." He rasped, his eyes flitting over everyone, as if he still couldn't quite believe it. "Did you get our message?" I pried. "How did you know where to find us?".

"I got your message, but that was later." He said, gulping down a mouthful of water, his eyes momentarily closing, as though the simple drink was a fine wine, to be enjoyed to it's utmost potential before swallowing. But knowing Joe, it would have been some drink that had the potential to sizzle on your tongue and possibly burn all your nose hairs off.

"I was up hunting with Ken and Dad, in Larch Hills." He began, voice still hesitant. "We were gone for two days. And on the way back, we called Mum, or tried to. We got no answer..I tried again. We had finally bagged a moose, we wanted to tell her... Christ. About two hours out of the bush, we come on this car. Two people were fighting in it, yelling and screaming at each other. At first we thought it was a just a fight...but then, this guy sees us, and gets out of the car, screaming at the top of his lungs, to help him..." He continued, pausing to rub filthy hands over his eyes, leaving a streak of gray crud across his forehead.

"Ken opened the door, and he just screams at us to go. I couldn't believe it. I watched at the other guy squished himself into the window, moaning, and clawing at the door. I didn't want to believe it. The guy with us...he was hurt bad...Blood, blood all over, covering the inside...Ken tried to stop the it, stop the flow, but it didn't help. But he told us, that the day after we left, it had happened. He didn't know much, but he knew that these things we attacking everyone, killing for not reason. He swore that he saw some...some...eating people. We didn't believe it. We were halfway home when he went still. Dead. Then..I..ah fuck...He attacked Ken, killed him, right in front of me. Screaming, and then dad crashed into another car, that was stopped in the middle of the road. Dad knocked the guy off Ken. But the guy only attacked him instead, leaving Ken in the car, fallen over. I got him..but Dad was...one of them within minutes..." He choked. My own chest tightened, he had seen his family die, I at least had been spared that.

He finally looked up, meeting my eyes. "I ran...I should have killed him...I should have ..." He began. "No." I said firmly. "How could you have known?" I soothed. "No! I should have! Now...Now they are..." He paused. Then again began once more, the bottled water in his grasp shaking as he brought it to his lips again.

"..I ran. I had my gun and the ammo I had on me, my hunting knife, and thats it. They were everywhere. Running. No one can out run them...One of them tackled me...I, managed to throw him off. Then got into this car. The keys were still ignition. Dumb luck. But the seat was soaked...in blood. Anyways...I drove home. But.. it was all wrong. No one was there, not mom, no one, not even the dog. Just blood...The windows broken...Then I got my truck, packed some shit...then left." He finished, hiding from our stares with another swig from his water.

"Jesus. Joe. That was over 8 days ago!" Dave exclaimed. "Where have you been since?" He asked, looking fixedly at him. "Driving." He grunted back. Staring at the ground and rubbed a blood encrusted pant leg. "Just drove around for a while. Salmon Arm is burning, someone smashed into the Shell station..it was still on fire... Tried my mum and other families cells. Then all of your guy's. Got nothing. Rachel had called, earlier, then you, Ash, but I couldn't get any signals or no one answered. So I drove to your house.. Ash..." He stopped, and visibly swallowed.

"What?..." I began. But Rachel silenced me with a look over his head. "I thought you were dead..." Your garage door was smashed in...and the door connecting it, along with the front door just broken in. Just covered in blood..." I took a moment to visualize it, but couldn't quite see my house like that...some one else's maybe, but not mine.

"Then, when I went around back, your deck door was shattered too, and blood was all over the carpets...I was sure you were dead..I ...I remembered my promise...to come for you...and...I thought I was too late...you remember when we talked about that?" He questioned, voice slurring slightly. I smiled as I remembered, and nodded. Then noticed his hand stray to his leg again. Worried, I knelt above him, meaning to pull up his pant leg, but he grabbed my hands tightly. "I need to see it Joe." I cautioned. Looking at him in the eye till he relented, closing his eyes and letting my hands free. Before I could even grab my flashlight I knew it couldn't be good, and it wasn't. His lower leg was a mass of bruises, cuts, and long gashes, a few of them quite deep. Sodden, limp bandages covered the worst, but they looked days old. "I swear, I haven't been bitten." He replied, hissing in pain as I moved it. Thor and I exchanged looks, but I continued examining it. I didn't see any teeth marks, but that didn't mean anything. "Grab me the first aid." I called.

And while I cleaned his wound, in between his pained grimaces, he told the rest of his story. How he had left my house, and drove away, trying to find someone he knew that had survived. All he found was death, destruction, and more death. I was glad I had something to keep my hands busy, so I didn't dwell as much on the state of my town...my friends...family. Joe's truck had a CB in it, and in the first few days when we were on it, looking for the weather station, he had caught part of the conversation, but couldn't raise us on the CB. So, he had set out, two full days after we made it to Rachel's, he came that away after us. Becoming more and more discouraged as he traveled, finding the chaos at Rachel's house, the undead corpses outside, Dan and Rachel's mother on the inside. He had been about to give up on ever finding us, when over three days ago, he heard gun-shots. And by the time he had made it to the scene, we had left, leaving behind a pile of dead, and a half looted cabin, by with tire tracks leading away, clear as day. It had been him the night before. He had found us.

I couldn't believe it, against all odds...He had made it. I grinned down at him as I tied a knot in the extensive bandages. "I still can't believe it Joe...man. You made it!" I said happily. He smiled tightly back, wincing as he made to stand. It was pitch black now, and the enveloping blackness set my hair on edge. "We should find somewhere to stay for the night." Dave called from inside the truck, where he was trying to get warm. "You read my mind." I called back. "But it is pretty dark, even if we find a house, it is too dangerous to try clear it in the dark."

"I found a place. It is up about twenty minutes back down the road, but it is secure." Joe replied from the truck box. "I am already there!" I yelled over my shoulder, hopping in the car. Thor drove with Joe at my request, I didn't want him to be alone.

By the time we reached Joe's house, I was rubbing my eyes, trying in vain to keep awake and alert. Slapping my face slightly I readied my gun and looked around the front yard, relieved to find no sign of them. Limping slightly, Joe moved to the side of the house and pulled away some of the thin wooden boards that masked a large ground level window. He slid it open and eased himself inside, we followed cautiously, even after he had shouted up that it was all clear.

Hours later I was surprised I was still awake. We had settled in the basement in a partially renovated tv room. But it just wasn't for the ambiance, the previous inhabitants had an old fashioned wood burning stove in the room, following a woodsy, old fashioned theme. Their bad taste was our gain, and within an hour Thor had the fire burning strongly. Everyone had chosen to stretched out on the floor or the couches around the fire, soaking up the warmth of the fire, and the security of others.

Rachel had fallen asleep leaning into Dace, who likewise was sprawled against the couch shoulder, blankets to his chin. Thor was stretched out on the floor, half-asleep in front of the stove. While Tia, amusingly, had climbed up on his chest (her favorite spot on anyone to snooze), bobbing up and down as he breathed, snoring louder then anyone as he petted her, a silly smile on his face.

From my sleeping bag on the floor beside them, I looked around with tired eyes, taking in the forms of my friends, but still trying to hear over the wind. "Just go to sleep, we'll hear them when they come." Joe murmured from the recliner behind me. I twisted around, smoothing the hair out of my eyes and glanced at him. "Not always." I replied carefully. He simply nodded and closed his eyes, settling more comfortably into the recliner.

After a long period of silence I could take it no longer and unzipped my sleeping bag, tip toeing out of the room to check the window. Out of habit, I flicked at the switch, no power. It was a half-assed chanced, but I chance I guess.

I shifted the boards slightly, peering into the darkness, but saw nothing. Sighing loudly, I wandered back to the others. I felt restless and unsettled. You know the feeling you get when you have drank too much coffee and you are stuck in class? Well I had that feeling in the ten-fold. I settled back in my covers, rolling my eyes as I tried to ignore Thor's loud snoring, Tia and him were a match thats for sure.

It was going to be a long night. But as things usually go, I fell asleep at last. Only waking when someone stumbled into me. Still half-sleep, and running in instinct I vaulted myself away clumsily as I thrashed about in the confines on my sleeping bag. "Sorry!" Joe half whispered, as he limped away, presumably to the bathroom, feeling foolish, I got up, surprised that my act hadn't garnered an audience. But surprisingly they slept on, only the dog cracking open an eye before sighing and returning to sleep.

Grabbing my jacket and handgun, I left the room, going upstairs and looking out the kitchen's sliding glass door. I remember how the sun was just rising, and in the dim light, the landscape still looked like something out of a Christmas card, the cars all covered in snow, the road covered in white puffy snow. It made me homesick for my own house, and it's view.

Predictably, Joe was not long in joining me. "Hows your leg?" I asked, eying him covertly through a glance. "Fine." He grunted, zipping up his lumber jack vest. Even from the distance, I caught a wiff of him. "Phew! Joe! I know you have through a lot, but man, you need a shower man! You reek!" I joked, punching him lightly on the shoulder. He only grinned. "I mean.." I continued, "I got covered in blood three times over, being through car accidents, smacked into a pole, rooted an underground store room, done target practice on zombies, and brought down a chasing mob of zombies chasing Thor...BUT. I had time for a few showers!" I laughed, and then fell into even harder laughter when I saw his eyes bug out. "You did what!" He exclaimed. "Oh." I replied, "Nevermind!" I said between bouts of laughter.

Later, when we had both stopped laughing, he told me more about his escape. And the news wasn't what I wanted to hear. After my house he tried a few other of our friends. Each place he met with mobs of the creatures, and ever worse, with bloody doors, hanging open, and their cars still in the drive way.

One piece of news hit me particularly hard. He had driven to Willy's house, which was relatively free of the undead. Like Richard's neighborhood, it seemed to have been hit by a rolling wave of destruction, then left deserted in it's wake. Here Joe had found Willy's younger brother, Chris, barely alive on their roof. Using the cab of their truck, he climbed up to him. Chris was dieing, he had been scratched on his side, and had been up there since the first day, hoping for rescue. This in itself was a pity, Chris had always been a sweet kid. Not knowing his fate, he told Joe everything that had happened.

The day of the attack Willy, Chris, and his Mom had been home. His mum had been working in the garage, his dad was away at work. While he and Chris has been playing video games in the lounge. They hadn't had any warning, suddenly they heard the glass smashing in the kitchen. Running to see, they had both been shocked to see the girl next door, speared on the glass shards, her left cheek hanging by a thin string of flesh, blood staining her coat, but growling and straining to reach them. Not knowing how to react, they waited till the last second to run, reaching the deck doors as another broke through the front door. Using the rail as a brace, Willy had jumped for the roof, barely making it as he scrambled for purchase on the icy surface. He had just begun to pull Chris up when a blood stained man burst through the door, grabbing Chris and trying to sink his teeth into him. They had struggled, turning Chris into a human tug-rope, till finally Willy gained ground, pulling Chris up. But in the struggle Chris had gained his death wound. Like Dan, it was the same, even a scratch can turn you. Shivering with the cold, and with all the signs of his death on him, Chris had continued.

They crawled to the front of the house, and a grizzly scene met their eyes, their neighborhood was in chaos, cars crashing, swerving, crowds dead chasing the screaming living. Chris had said they couldn't believe their eyes, everything was a confused rush and frenzied activity. But one scream broke through the rising babble, their mothers. Scrambling, Willy hadn't thought twice, he told Chris to stay put and had climbed down, using their truck as make-shift ladder, and grabbing a pipe from the truck bed he had jumped on to the driveway. He had been deaf to his brothers pleads to stay, dodging the running dead as he tried to reach cover. He had always been a stubborn bastard...but a good one.

Willy had never made it to the garage. He had swung at many, but his downfall came from his own blood, as his mother jumped him from behind, ripping into his neck, and bringing him down. Chris had been forced to watch it all.

Tears rolled down my cheeks. Willy and I had been close friends, best friends even, before we had had a falling out a few weeks previous to Z-day. He had always been stubborn and sometimes hard to get along with, but he had also been a good friend, and a great person to hang around with. We could talk for hours about nothing, we exchanged secrets, and stories. I remember many long conversations on msn, chatting for hours when he was at school in Victoria, or movie nights at Richards and Joe's. Even today, I can't rid myself of the words he said to me the last time we spoke, or the anger and hurt he caused. But I do remember the man. The man who made me laugh, smile, even cry. The man I spent hours to talking, and looked forward to seeing. And now he was gone, killed on a hopeless mission. And the last thing we had done was fight. I have buried many friends in the past two and a half years, even a lover or two. But to this day, the memory of him,our friendship, and his demise still visit my dreams.

So, as I sit here, nursing a glass of vodka and tonic, and finishing this chapter, I raise my glass to you Willy, where ever you are. For all that you were, and for all that you could have been. This chapter is dedicated in your memory, and for your bravery. I hope you found the answers to all that you sought. And.. We miss you.


	47. Chapter 47

**All Standard and Previously stated repetitive disclaimers apply. AKA. Don't be naughty!**

**Reviews:** Please if you don't mind. I mean, this is my 47th chapter, but now more then ever I need your support and advice so the quality of my story doesn't start to decline or anything.

**A/N: **Sorry for the wait guys, especially for the wait for the 46th chapter. It got really hectic with work and university for a big while there. Now I have a few days to relax in between my exams.

A Nightmare Walking – Chapter 47

We didn't leave the house for over four days. As a group we agreed that it was better to wait till Joe's leg had begun to heal, then to start out right away and risk infection, or at the very least, a slower recovery time. Keeping him still long enough to make in progress however, was an entirely different story. Once we got him up to speed on everything that had happened, he shed new light on our ghost road, remembering a trail that work buddy had mentioned a few weeks previous to the invasion, hearing it in casual conversation as being a road that connects to a building site. It sounded promising to say the least, and so I pried his mind for details. Apparently it was a difficult road to access and navigate, but it connected with a larger mountain road a few miles into the trails. After that, I couldn't keep the little asshole still. I swear, if the man isn't working, watching TV, or drinking, he is near impossible to deal with.

I won't go into massive detail about our journey, as it is truly was a tedious, and boring travel. It involved long stretches in the car, and boring games of "I spy" and "Twenty Questions". Even in the stressful, and almost painfully vulnerable atmosphere, Rachel and myself periodically fell asleep as everyone took their turns behind the wheel. It took us three whole days, and one blown tire to get there.

Amazing, surprisingly, astonishingly...we made it! I could have passed out in gratitude. It seemed like someone up there still liked us after all. Only one thing worried me. On the second day we had come across an abandoned truck. Left in the middle of the roadway, the logo identifying it as affiliated with the Forest Service. The door was flung wide open, and the vehicles battery was drained. It was as though someone had opened the door to check something, but had never returned.

Great...just great. Just what we needed, another stiff out there. But even more worrisome, had someone else discovered our destination? I suppose I was being selfish, but cut me some slack...you know what I am talking about. I am sure you have all seen first hand what humans do to each other...even before Z-day! I guess what I am trying to say to that, is that I didn't want a lot of people to know of our place. I **did** want to help save people, to help others survive. But there are always risks involved in taking in newcomers. You know the risks that I talk about if you have made it this far.

So, I don't care if have this opinion makes me an asshole. I still worry whenever a new group is brought in, or by chance comes to us. Though now, refugees are rare. Anyone still alive is usually well settled and hidden. Like our friend in Jasper, and in the south of British Columbia. It was only in the first year that survivors trickled in and out regularly.

I wasn't quite sure what I was expecting when we got there, but what we saw wasn't half bad. I allowed myself an internal pat on the back. Has we really done it? The Sanctuary, as it had come to be known. From what paper work and other information we had compiled over the years, we can gather that this station was meant to be a student research center, possibly for students taking their Master's degrees in forecasting, or NOVA research. The uppermost level looks a bit like the front of a surveyors tower at an airport. The room is filled with computers, and other electronic do-dads. The compound was made out of ugly gray concrete, but it is stable and sturdy, and in the end thats all that matters. The compound, like I have said, was unfinished. Construction equipment like mini-cranes, bob-cats, and tractors were parked everywhere, but the weather station and the main floors below were complete. The station included ten small rooms, similar to a dorm-like arrangement. Five on the first floor were simple and had a communal bathroom, while five were slightly larger and each had an en suit bathroom. The top floor was mainly centered around the weather room, but a few cramp offices had also been built. The first floor also contained a kitchen, which was relatively large, but not completely furnished. Only a stove, a toaster, and a microwave had been brought before this all started. But the empty spaces only served to encourage us to fill them.

The rest of the compound included a half-completed utility building, where there were canisters of gasoline, tools, building materials, and some imperishable food items, it seems they had stored some items for the building crews time their. As well, the bare foundations of another building marked the northern most corner, as well as two construction portables.

I remember getting out the cruiser, struck dumb with awe and disbelief. It was ACTUALLY here! And though unfinished, it was more then I had ever allowed myself to dream!

"Oh my God!" Rachel breathed as she came up beside me. "I can't believe it!" She cried and flung herself into me for a hug. I hugged her back, squeezing hard, and for the first time in over two weeks, I let myself sigh in genuine relief. David joined the hug, whispering a simple: "Thanks." in my ear. The strange in my companions, and in myself was palpable. I could actually feel the foreboding cloud we had been existing under thin a bit. When I finally pulled away, a few tears welled up in my eyes, they were exhausted, but relieved tears. I turned, wiping them away with my gloves, letting Tia out of the backseat. Watching as she jumped down cautious, then picked her way through the snow to were David and Rachel still stood, staring intently at our new home. Thor and Joe stood together by Dave's truck, already deep in discussion. We certainly did have a lot of work to do.

I remember that day clearly, we hadn't even looked inside, there could have been a complex full of stiffs in there, but all I could think was...well, Christ, we had done it! In a sense, we had been them! Beaten then by simply still existing, and now, we had gone one step further, we were protected.

Once we had cleared the place and moved in, we had a small but exuberant celebration. What had began as a quiet drink in the lounge, turned into a full blown party! Albite it a small one. I don't remember much from the night, as I got absolutely sloshed, but I do remember a drunken sing-a-long, terribly off-key, but hilariously amusing.

I suspect Joe was to thank for the copious amounts of booze. It was that night where I discovered a part of alcohol that I had only ever heard about. The part that, for a fleetingly brief time, no matter how bad things are, everything is made right again. For a little while at least. I guess this is why people become alcoholics...because surely they don't just drink Crown Royal for it's barf-inducing flavor? I think not.

As the night continued, we laughed, danced, talked, but most of all, drunkenly reminisced about the good times. Remembering the time when Rachel had gotten so pissed at Willy's cabin, she had decided that a dip in the lake in mid-January was a brilliant idea. And how Trent had had to run after her and dissuade her. Or the one time Willy had gotten drunk, and had tried to fight Joe, Richard, and Trent. Or last New Years where I fell asleep before the countdown had even started. We all laughed as I re-told the story of the Truth and Dare I had forced Trent to do, making him run through the surf naked. And laughing ourselves to hysterics when he had actually done it. Or again, when they let me have fireworks while tipsy, and almost nailing Joe in the head.

The next morning I work up in bed with nothing but one sock and a pair of mittens on, stretches out like a stationary jumping jack under the covers (which at that point was a unzipped sleeping bag and a blanket tucked into the mattress). Groaning at the blinding shafts of sunlight that invaded the room, I peered over the bed, accounting for all my clothes and a closed door. Only Tia shared my room, sunning herself in a small patch by the window.

I chuckled at the bizarreness of the situation as I snuggled back into the covers. I hadn't drank that much since the movie night two years ago at Joe's. When he ran over of coke to go with the rum and 'forgot' to tell me. Surprisingly I didn't feel remotely hungover, but did have significant memory loss. What I did remember all added up into the creation of a great night. The other thing missing was good sex. Ah well, you can't have everything.

Squinting I looked at my watch, flung at the head of my bed, with my handgun and it's holster. It was early afternoon already! I almost dashed from my bed, I hadn't slept that long for over 2 weeks! Hopping into the clothes I had worn last night, I was halfway down the hallway before my left shoe was completely tied.

Entering the kitchen, Thor stood at the small grill section, hands on his hips and poking at a frying mound of potato. "Ah, so the sleeping beauty awakens." Thor exclaimed grandly, throwing me a mock bow. "I was wondering when you were going to grace us with your presence." He continued with a warm smile. I returned it in kind, pulling back a chair and settling down at the table.

"Boy." I commented, rubbing a hand over my eyes. "I haven't had that much to drink in ...argh, what am I saying? I have NEVER had that much to drink." I complained, rubbing a pounding headache that had just erupted and was playing the bongo drums in my forehead. "I am sure, I'll bet NO ONE has EVER had that much to drink." Thor laughed, handing me a water and two Advil. "You are a God." I replied, gulping them down.

While breakfast cooked, Dave, Rachel and Joe streamed in at different intervals, all looking a bit worse for wear. I wasn't the only one that had "too good" of a time last night. But we had needed it.

As a group, we all sat down at the table. Casual conversation gradually come to a halt, and the million dollar question that hung over our heads? What now?


	48. Chapter 48

**-All Standard and Previously stated repetitive disclaimers apply. AKA. Don't be naughty and steal!**

**Reviews:** Please and Thank you. As many have said, it means a lot, not only to my ego, but it truly helps me improve my writing skills. And at the moment, I am entering a different spectrum in the story, and therefore it has changed my writing style a bit, and am eager to hear your opinions and advice.

**A/N:** Hello readers, I hope everyone had a great christmas and HAPPY New Year. I came home from university for the break, and worked the majority. In my spare time I did write this chapter, sorry it took this long for an update, but this have been busy with exams, then family stuff, then the Internet decided not to grace me with a steady connection for like...a week. Enjoy and please let me know what you think.

**Chapter 48**

Later in the morning, Thor, Dave, Rachel and I all piled outside into the chilly mountain air to better inspect our new home. Joe stayed inside, his injury preventing him from any unneeded movement. And this opportunity gives me the ideal opening to tell you about the layout of our home, or at least give you a before and after tour as it were,

The back of the compound spans a good twenty meters or so before tapering down a rocky incline, basically like a gently sloping cliff. Back then it was only churned up earth and a scrap heap. Now we have turned it into a thriving vegetable garden, with compost bins bordering the house, which we use for fertilizer. Unfortunately the backside of the buildings are encrusted with ground level windows. We realized the negative implications of this just four days into our stay. After this we would be enforcing them with wooden boards, as on that day one caught us by surprise. It was a single zombie that made it up to our haven, severely shaking our fleeting feeling of safety. It had come up on Rachel as she was dumping a bag of garbage out the kitchen door. She managed to huck the bag at it and slam the door shut. It was cracking the glass of the doors window with it's bare hands before Joe had been able to put it down. I have no idea what would have happened if Joe hadn't been there with his hunting knife, their guns were in the rec room. And the rest of us were away, a half a day down the trail, jump starting the abandoned forestry service truck we came across on the first day up the trail. Believe me when I say that nowadays, every man, woman, and child carrys some sort of protection with them at all times.

It wasn't until we started reporting our location on the CB and later, the Internet that Bill, along with his sister and her husband made it up to us around two weeks later that he solved the problem. Ben, as I have mentioned previously was retired army, we always joked that he was here to keep Kirren in line, Kirren would only grumble, it must be a Canadian army versus American army thing. But anyways, I am getting off track. In his retirement Bill had finally acted on a lifelong hobby of is, metal work. And soon after his arrival he fitted every window with sheet mail enforced covers that only have to be swung and locked into place. Ingenious and made with only a power drill and a few scraps of metal from the construction.

Moving on...The two construction portables that sat at the entrance section of the property were moved about a half a year ago. They were moved so they were closer to the main building, for protection of course. Thanks to Todd's semi-trailer, they now serve as improvised dormitories. We managed to squeeze about ten beds in each. Most of the single people live there for the moment, letting the families and couples share the rooms in the main complex, and in the garages that we separated into small rooms. Our ultimate goal is to get everyone into a building with real rooms, but at the moment we are filled to capacity and more then a little bit uncomfortable.

We have close to forty people living in the Sanctuary, and we are always looking for places to expand into. In fact, for the last year Thor, Dave, and a work team for have been in the midst of constructing another building, originally we hoped to include another kitchen inside, but that was a pipe dream. Now, we can only hope it will be completed at all as we now depend on whatever building materials we can scavenge, and it is hard to find unrusted supplies lately, such as metal beams. We simply added on to the existing foundations that the construction crew had just begun to build just before this all started. Depending on the availability of supplies, Thor an Dave estimate we might be done construction before winter, about six or seven months away. Then after that it is simply the case of drywalling and painting to complete the project. Dave who was apprenticing to be a plumber is even putting in a bathroom on the ground level. We are all quite excited. It is going to have three levels and ten rooms on each floor. You will have to forgive my enthusiasm, but the prospect of thirty new rooms is like Christmas has come early! We can finally get those people in the draft garages, and crampt portables, even the ones in the some of the campers. I know that at least five of the seven campers and motor home families have expressed a desire to live in a building once again.

Now, how do we feed this crowd you ask? Well I will tell you. As you have read, we have a pretty decent sized kitchen in the weather station already. Today, it is still our main kitchen, but when our numbers started pushing twenty or so we began experiencing space problems. Let me tell you, we do not eat lightly here, all of us put in long days to keep this place and the surrounding area secure and maintained. So when meal time rolls around we eat hearty and heavy. This is why soon after our kitchen reached it's limit, we began supplementing it with making fires outside to boil water and cook vegetables outside on a camping grate to take some of the strain off the crowded kitchen. Then, sometime later, on a supply run, "Gamma team" came across a camper and RV convoy getting attacked north of Siccamous, this was actually the same team that saved Beth and . With our help they managed to fight them off enough to escape, and five out of their eleven remaining vehicles decided to join us.

They were weary and suspicious, but bone-tired of always being on the run, always struggling to find enough gas and food to survive. It wasn't till they finally saw the Sanctuary and it's people that they truly let themselves believe in the possibility of safety, after months on the road, they could finally settle down. And I must say their vehicles have been priceless, not only giving themselves loving space, but in their kitchen space. So, we have put it all to good use and usually ferry pots and pans back and forth between them and the main kitchen at meal times. And in case you are wondering, we do indeed still use a wood fire outside to cook with, or boil water for washing. It may be crude, but never fails to work.

Now, let me tell you a bit about our population. Since our latest tally we have forty people, three dogs, and two cats, all pets of the survivors. Actually to be more specific, Butch (as his collar named him) hitched a ride in Joe's truck the second time we left the compound. We both went on a short trip to strip the nearest houses of anything useful, and when we returned Butch, an Alaskan husky was sitting up in the back, acting like he owned the joint. So technically, he found us.

The majority of us are under forty, with a slight ratio of more men then women. Helen, Cassandra, Bill, and John are our only senior citizens, but we lost Bill almost a year ago now. We also have seven children, including Abby. Three of them came with their families, but the other five were not as lucky. There was how Abby came with us of course, then Jayden, a tough young thirteen year old was a half starved wild thing when we found him. He had survived on his own for many months when we came upon him stealing food out of a house near the sanctuary that we kept stocked for emergency's. He was hard to win over, giving Joe a black eye, and flipping Marty on his back before he finally paused when he saw Julie. Something about the little brit moved him, and now they are inseparable. The Osmonds picked up Sara in the office of a grocery store as they came to us after hearing our CB broadcasts. While Talen and his sister Dawn arrived with Kirren, after picking them up out from a rooftop in some neighborhood in Kamloops. There are no orphans in the sanctuary, each child is integrated into a family or claimed by a parent of their own choice, just like Abby. They are all as loved and cherished just as much as if they were our own. It is refreshing to hear so many children's voices again.

Rachel, Dave, Joe, Thor, and I are amazingly all still alive today, us five original founders of our haven. But it certainly has not been easy, for example, Dave had a close call in the first year, during the raid where Kirren and his group. He suffered extensive injuries after jumping out of a window in a Salmon Arm suburb. It was a last ditch effort to escape a group of undead inside a residential home. Ultimately, it did work. But for a long time we did not think he would pull through, but he did. As far as we could tell without x-rays or a real doctor, he suffered at least three broken ribs, and a broken leg.. The ribs healed, but because of a lack of a doctor his leg healed crooked. Dave walks with a limp now, but still carrys himself with pride. His only regret is that he cannot participate in raids any longer, but that is besides the fact, as he was always needed more at home anyway. His construction expertise is priceless to this entire place.

The community is powered by both a water and solar powered generator. We originally had a gas one, but the amount of gas it ate severely limited our gas reserves. Other then that, we operate off of kerosene lamps, battery operated lamps and flashlights, and sometimes over candles. In fact, I have written a good deal of this story under the flickering light of many a candle. What? They are easy to find and disposable compared to battery operated stuff.

The solar-powered generator was easy enough to locate, with the world switching to "Green Energy" before the fall. We simply picked up few generators and striped off a bunch of solar panels from a fancy cabin in Vermont. It never ceases to amaze me how the rich intend to enjoy the beauty of the lake and nature with satellites TV and hot tubs. But I am probably just jealous.

But the water-turbine generator, on the other hand, was much more difficult to locate, and the tale that goes with it is telling of what the world has deteriorated to. About a year back we finally managed to get one, but it cost us dearly in both our trade goods and peace of mind. Some USA company had a warehouse in the mountain area of Winfield, almost two hours away. Now apparently, some employees and the security guards with them had managed to enforce and change the warehouse into a defensibly home. We manged to locate them on the Internet, they had created a post-z-day web page advertising their trade capabilities.

As you know, if you have any computer access, that in most places the Internet is still operational. Though no one is quite sure for how long. As if too many of the right facilities around the world shut down, and the satellites in orbit decay enough to short out, even that might shut down on us too. As far as cyber-space is aware, South America as a whole continent seems to have no access what so ever. As there has reportedly been no Internet traffic what so ever. Personally, I find it doubtful that an entire continent can be cut off, but then again, what the heck do I know?

The Internet has been the worlds best savior next to CB radios since the fall. There have been hundreds of sites created after the apocalypse, showing us survivors, all around the world that we are not alone. Divided maybe, separated by land, sea, or hordes, yes. But oh, yes, we do survive! In spite of it all humanity still spits in the face of the walking dead, and live on. We survive all over the world, and these websites link us together. We check in, trade, report horde movements, safe houses, plans, new developments, and of course, just talking. It is incredible! It wasn't until a booted up my laptop on a whim that I discovered that the Internet was still alive and kicking. The company that built the research station certainly did there homework, and we usually have a pretty good wireless connection.

This seems as good as any place to pause, and wrap up this entry, it will be back to business, as well as my errant train of thought next time. But for now, I have to hit the sack, I have a 4am shift change with one of the rookies, actually, it is Jayden's first night at post alone on the main roof. We always start the rookies out light. Then once they prove themselves in the Sanctuary, they are awarded with the responsibility of taking an all day and night shift with three others in a house, the nearest to us, whose roof we use as an advances look-out station. So, fellow survivors, good night...


	49. Chapter 49

**-All Standard and Previously stated repetitive disclaimers apply. AKA. Don't be naughty and steal!**

**Reviews:** Please and Thank you. As many have said, it means a lot, not only to my ego, but it truly helps me improve my writing skills. And at the moment, I am entering a different spectrum in the story, and therefore it has changed my writing style a bit, and am eager to hear your opinions and advice.

**A/N:** Hello readers, I hope everyone had a great christmas and HAPPY New Year. I came home from university for the break, and worked the majority. In my spare time I did write this chapter, sorry it took this long for an update, but this have been busy with exams, then family stuff, then the Internet decided not to grace me with a steady connection for like...a week. Enjoy and please let me know what you think.

**Chapter 49**

Ah! I forgot to mention at the closing of my last entry, the last concluding stops of my before and after tour. This is the unfortunate disadvantage of writing with a pen and paper, unlike on the computer, I can simply add and edit out my entries, instead, I have encroach on your patience, if you will so indulge me?

We also have two metal framed greenhouses That we salvaged from a Canadian Tire cargo box that had stopped on the tracks. That score was like Christmas, as in addition to Canadian tire goods like tools and household items, there was also a whole other cargo box full of clothes that had been destined for Old Navy, Walmart, The Gap, and Winners, according to the box labels anyway. I don't want to go too into detail, but sufficed to say, everyone got a lot of new clothes that year.

So anyway, these greenhouses serve as more garden space. Christine and her teenage granddaughter use their ample green thumbs year round to foster the growth of herbs and spices, like chives, garlic, parsley, oregano, basil, and loads of other shit to keep our meals interesting.

There is also of course, the "Pit", which I have already gone into detail on with my previous tale of incarceration. It took forever to finish, and the roof leaks in the rainy season, but thanks to a cache of mixing concrete and the determination of an entire community pitching in to help, it was finally completed. It was some weeks into our stay that the thought of ever needing such a place even crossed our minds. But indeed it became obvious as time wore on, that though we were far removed from the world, we were not far enough.

It is not as frequent, or as in bigger numbers as it is on the outside. We are lucky that the massive roving hordes have never discovered our haven, but occasionally a small group will make it's way up. Sometimes drawn by chasing our raiding trucks, or catching a fleeting smell on the air as it shambles on it's way. They do come, but in numbers that thankfully, we can usually manage.

Anyway, getting back to business. So, we got into touch with this group and haggled the price. In the end it was a bit more pricey then we had all anticipated. The eventual agreement covered a payment of two trunks full of fresh vegetables from our garden. Kerosene lamps and fuel. But then, even more pricey, a CB radio, twenty-five liters of gasoline, and twenty vials of incelin. The last three were all items we had to taken out of our personal reserves, as we usually don't offer those specialty items as trade goods. We knew they were playing us, but the fact was we needed that generator. To us, it was almost beyond any price.

So, a date was set, and our team made the journey, the Alpha team, the "Untouchable" team, myself, Kirren, Stan, Ben, Julie, and Thor (who simply decided to tag along this time, big oaf never really likes it when I am out of sight). Everyone was nervous, no one had been out that far from the Sanctuary since Neil had set out to Vernon to see if his two step-brothers were still alive. No one had heard from him since, and that had been over three weeks ago.

Back in the day, back in normal times that is, getting to Winfield would be about an hour and a bit trip, but these of course were not normal times, and since Winfield is so close to Kelowna, we took every precaution, even taking the back roads to this warehouse, avoiding the highways and coming down a forestry service road. This route was the best one we could find, but we still have to get through three suburban neighborhood areas as we came down from the hills to get to the place. The first one was predictable, same with the second one. They were wandering around aimlessly, shambling on the wet grass and mud as a light autumn rain showered down. As we turned the corner, zipping in between abandoned cars and other wreckage, their heads turned towards us, almost in unison, and began running towards us. I remember wondering how long it had been since they had even seen fresh prey.

I was in the passenger seat as Kirren drove. Stan was perched in the truck box, taking his turn out sniping, as Thor was in the truck behind us, with Julie driving, and Ben behind her. Aiming leisurely I brought down five that were coming at us from the side, letting Stan take out the majority. Watching with a snide smirk as our cow-scoops plowed through them like a knife does to soft butter. This was Joe's brilliant idea I must add. Which these, plows of sorts, our truck stay safer. This way the undead don't damage the front end of the truck, or the windshield too much. Usually they are flung to both sides if they are coming at us from the front. In addition, almost all of our raiding trucks have makeshift bars on the side windows to discourage a rambunctious fist from breaking in. It works very well, all I have to do to shoot is roll down the window and shoot between the bars.

The third neighborhood however struck me as ominous, right as we entered. The whole neighborhood was deserted. A few faded, yellowing signs were still propped in the upper windows. Proclaiming: "Alive inside", or other such slogans. But their story's ending was clear, the doors and ground level windows were smashed in. The wispy tatters of curtains fluttered weakly in the rainy breeze, and the whispering, eerie groans of rusty hinges bending with the wind seemed loud in the silence.

I popped my gum with a snap and eyed Kirren as I bent to reload, we shared a look, but continued driving forward. An empty neighborhood was strange and so far from the ordinary that it set my nerves on edge even more. I pressed the button on my mike for my radio ear-piece. "Look sharp everyone." I began, "Something stinks around here, and it certainly isn't the company." I finished. "Or lack thereof!" Julie piped in, her voice barely audible over the wailing warble of the Beatles, "Cry baby cry," as it played in the background.

Eventually we were in sight of the back gate of this warehouse. Even from this distance I could see people running back and forth behind the fencing. Now, I have to tell you, this place was putrid. We were over twenty meters away when the smell hit me. I pulled my handkerchief, that was tied around my neck, to keep the sweat to a minimum, up over my nose, trying to vain to muffle the stench. It was enough to gag a maggot.

We slowed to a crawl as I cocked the shotgun, and eased open the snaps of my side arm as I did so, ready for anything. After surveying what I could unaided, I lifted up my sunglasses and peered though the binoculars. What I saw disturbed me even further. The warehouse has enforced there gated fence with sheet metal, barricades and barbed wire. They had guards, over ten milling around the base of the fence, and four on the roof. These guys were no easy targets, they knew what they were doing. The four on the roof were in stationary sniper positions, while the groundlings were split into two groups of five, guarding both sides of the gate. I expect, from the amount of people we actually later saw in the warehouse, that there was only a skeleton crew guarding the 'front' entrance. 

The reason for the abominable stench also became apparent. It was the smell of decay, and half-burnt human flesh. A large pile of bodies fitfully smoked in the rain, not 5 meters ahead of us. And still they added to the pile as we crawled by, two men in pure black clothes, face-shields tipped up, swung another limp body into the pile. As we went by, I couldn't help but look. In every face, not yet ruined by the fire, their eyes lay open, and clear, not clouded in the way they always do before they turn. We came so close, that I glimpsed the dull green iris' of a young man, the blood still fresh as it dribbled slowly from a neatly made hole in his temple, his eyes spoke of desperation. It made me shiver.

The men that had disposed of the corpse had quickly retreated to the safety of a burnt out vehicle, their guns not so discretely pointed in our direction, same as the ones inside the gate. This we understood, it was simply operational prudence.

We came to a stop at the gate, and we quickly surrounded by the armed men, who trickled rapidly out the front gate, clicking the safety off there weapons as they did. A man, with a band of red cloth tied on his right forearm came forward, his gun still aimed at both our vehicles.

"We are here to trade for the generator." Kirren spoke, one hand up in a peaceful gesture, but the other, inside the car, fondled his pistol. "We expected you hours ago. It is almost dark." The man replied, his voice dripping with disdain and distrust as under his face-shield, his eyes swept over us.

"Alright, get your people out of the trucks, we walk from here." He barked, turning his heel and marching back to the gate.

"Not excately the friendly sort." I commented to Kirren as I unbuckled my seat belt. "Stay sharp, this doesn't seem right." He replied. I rolled my eyes at the obviousness of the statement.

"Move it!" A guard snapped, rapping on my window with his rifle. I opened the door, and jumped down, almost falling into the guard as I did so. "Hey buddy, a little space here. We are the ones trading with you. Got it?" I snapped, my edginess and unexplainable sense of distaste for these men showing through. But to my credit, the dog backed off, and instead, tailed me as I walked up to the others, taking my place at Kirren's side as we walked the distance to the gate.

Thor pushed up between us, his hand was cautionary at the small of my back. "What do you think you are doing short-stop?" (His pet name for me) He whispered. "I doubt it is wise to pissed off the assholes with the guns." He continued. "Oh stuff it, you know this place is off." I countered back. "Besides, he was close enough to hump my leg." I finished, spitting on the ashy turf for emphasis. Thor half grunted in response, falling back to help the others with the supplies we brought for the exchange.

The gate doors were locked behind us, and we stopped near the buildings enforced doors. As I surveyed the area, it became apparent that they had recently ended substantial sized incursion. There was two men repairing part of the gate, and others re-stacking sandbag platform mounds, in which to shoot from in case of an invasion. And still others stringing out fresh barbed wire around the perimeter of the the building and gate area.

"What happened here." Kirren asked the one in charge, eying a spot of fresh blood in the white pavement as he spoke. "Some of the Stiffs got in, runners. We weren't prepared for runners." He grunted in reply, as he eyed the door of the building, as if willing it to open."Wait here. He will be out to deal with you shortly." He replied, then disappeared around the side of the building without another word.

The remaining guards fanned out around us as we waited, their gaze was unwaveringly piercing. Almost indecently eying us, as if we were the aliens. I stood beside Kirren as they shifted around as. They surrounded us at all sides, their weapons at rest, but still out, the message was clear: 'Don't fuck with us.'

Finally the metal door screeched open and a large, yet not overbearing man stepped out. The guard nearest the door whispered in her ear, and he grunted in response. Outwardly, the man was a disappointment. Food stains spotted his shirt, which under all the caked on filth and grimy could have been white, but came out a dark gray. A ragged black beard, spotted with old and new scars, and his untrimmed nails did not improve this impression.

But yet, even so, his mere presence demanded a bearing of respect. It was apparent that he was the leader here. The gun he held in his hand was an old model, and it was quickly passed to an underlying as he wiped his hands on his jeans, before extending his hand towards Kirren, a half smile tugging on his lips.

It wasn't till Kirren took his hand in a shake that the man actually spoke. "Welcome. Sorry about the wait folks. I had some management issues to deal with. But my god, it is good to see other people..." He trailed off, his eyes flickering over our shoulders, eying the rest of us.

"It is understandable, considering the times." Kirren allowed guardedly, after they exchanged names. "You seem well outfitted." The man commented, eying our weapons and the vehicles parked outside the gates. "Maybe we should have struck a harder bargain." He continued, teeth bared in a half-smile that revealed a number of missing teeth.

"You struck a hard enough bargain, friend." I commented loosely, peeling off my handkerchief, and hat, shaking out my hair, the dark curls damp, but still springing around my face as I moved. "You basically emptied our stores as it is."

His eyes widened, and around us, the guards shifted and exchanged looks. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Julie pull down her handkerchief as well, her face frowning with stress and worry.

"Ashley, my second in command you might put it." Kirren offered in introduction as I extended my hand. "A pleasure." He commented, still eying as me as he took my hand with both of his. "You will have to forgive us. We are no used to seeing women, and women active on the outside." He paused, and turned towards Kirren. "You must have many women to take such a risk." He finished, the tone in his voice hard, and demeaning.

I yanked my hand from his tightening grip. "Excuse me?!" I all but spat...


	50. Chapter 50

**-All Standard and Previously stated repetitive disclaimers apply. AKA. Don't be naughty and steal!**

**Reviews:** Please and Thank you. As many have said, it means a lot, not only to my ego, but it truly helps me improve my writing skills. And at the moment, I am entering a different spectrum in the story, and therefore it has changed my writing style a bit, and am eager to hear your opinions and advice.

**A/N:** Wow. The 50th chapter, what a milestone for this little story!

**Chapter 50**

His eyes narrowed, and he let the hands that had held mine, slowly fall to his sides. "Ah, I see..how interesting." He commented quietly, looking up at a high window above us, but when I glanced up, no one was there.

Kirren was about to speak when the man, who had introduced himself as Brandon, overrode him. "Well, I suppose we should get to the trading, it will be dark soon, and I don't know about you, but I am eager for some fresh food." Kirren inclined his head in agreement, motioning to myself and Thor foreword, ordering the others to stay with our goods while we inspected the generator.

"Talk! Mingle! I am sure you have a lot to tell me boys. Oh, yes. Stand down boys!" He allowed grandly, with a flinging hand gesture, and as we were walked through the dark doorway, the stiffly held figures relaxed into more human like poses.

It was like walking into a tomb. It was barely lit, and stank of human sweat and sour food. Useless clutter lined the hallways, until the building opened up into a huge storeroom. Two conveyor belts lined the side walks, connecting to the two warehouse bay doors, originally used to load product. Ceiling high shelves were stocked high with products, the place was still full of goods.

And then there were the people too. They were dirty, and shadowed figures, whose eyes gleamed dully in the half-light. They clung to the walls like overgrown, malnourished spiders as we passed, as though we might snatch them away and carry them off into some imagined hell.

All the while, Brandon's voice boomed ahead, deep in conversation with Kirren, his quiet voice barely legible over the great pigs echoing voice.

Finally, we stopped at the base of the conveyor belt. Brandon craned his neck upwards and whistled to a balding man, peering down at us with wide eyes from an elevated control platform. The man almost fell over himself getting back to the panel and pressing the necessary buttons to start the right-hand belt moving.

A single box, clanked over to us, it was large, and from the look of it still in it's original packaging. "There it is. Not even opened." He said, running a filthy hand along the dusty surface. I was close enough that the dust tickled my nostrils.

"It hasn't been tested?" I asked incredelously. "You expec us to trade for triple what it is worth for an item that mght have a design flaw or a manufacturing problem?" I asked, crossing my arms over my chest, eyeing him and the surrounding guards critically.

"As blunt as that statement was, she has a point, friend." Kirren replied, a smile tugging at the cornor of his lips.

"What do you offer in exchange if we test it?" He replied schwerdly. "Trade? We are exchanging it for three times as much! We expect the fucking this to work." Thor rumbled dangerously. And to his cerdit,the man showed no fear, or intimidation, any lesser a man would be quaking in their boots or sweating with fear.

"Then offer something more in trade." He insisted. "You asked for no guarantee in our orginal agreement, only a straight exchange." He finished smugly.

"Bastard." I remember muttering. The guy was playing us well, like a professional pupeeter pulling at all the right strings. Even Kirren's hansome face was scrunched up in something close to anger. Which I might add is quite a feat, as not much can shake Kirrens impassive public mask. But this guy was deffinately pushing his luck.

Brandon's grin only stretched wider. "Come now.." He begin pretentiously, "We are all civilized men here...I am sure we can come to some kind of agreement..." He finished, his eyes swiveling over to me, before, almost reluctantly coming back to Kirren again.

I snorted in discust, and spoke over him as he began to speak again. "I am going for a walk, to check on the others." I said shortly, swingly the shotgun lightly up to lean onto my shoulder. The others noded in agreement, already busy haggling. Though I couldn't shake the feeling that that mans eyes followed me all the way out.

I walked more confediently through the halls then I felt. It is best to act confedient in an unstable situation, lest you show weakness to the wrong sort. After peering out a window, and catching a glimpise of the rest of our team, I seated myself on a stacked pile of boxes, resting my back against the musty smelling cardboard.

The muted buzz of coversation echoed through the building, the smell of sour sweat still lingered, permating the very air, I wondered how often they showered, or if the building even had showers. I had to remind myself, still do actually, that us in the scantuary are beyond lucky. We have been blessed with so many luxurys that the rest of the world don't have, such as the simple tool of a shower.

I reached into my vest pocket, and took out a mars bar, my favourite energy food. As I unwrapped it, I wondered, the way I always did at times such as this, how this all could have happened. This virus...this disease. How did it start...and how could we finish it? The news was never specific, the reports that came through from China..Japan, Russia, then the rest europe, it was all consentrated on the voilence, the supposed riots. Everyone figured it was religiously related, that the melting pot that had been bioling for decades had finally brimmed the sides and begun to pour over everything. But then, a few weeks before it came and ruined my life, there was talk of a powerful, terrible disease. Then it was right there, it wasn't on the television anymore, it was outside, and it was pounding to get in.

The noise of clothing russling close by brought me back to attention, and without moving me head, or alerting the watch I knew of their presence, my eyes shifted to the right. It was a small group of children, four of them, watching me intently from behind a pile of broken furniture near the hall doors. They were all dirty, and dressed in clothes too big for them. "If you are trying to sneak up on me, you should try and be quieter." I said softly, eliting a chorus of gasps from the group across the room.

"But, I have to say, you are all are pretty good, I can usually tell the moment someone turns in my direction." I continued, keeping my voice calm as I raised my head, and caught their eyes, all with eyes as stunned as a deer caught in the headlights.

"Come here. I won't hurt you." I requested, but to their credit, none of them came foreward. Smart bunch. "Okay, alright." I continued, with a small smile. "But I think it will be pretty hard to share my chocolate bar if you guys stay over there." I finished with a grin, peel down on side of the wrapper to expose the creamy chocolate pattern. That evoked a rustle, a bout of fidgeting, and the sound of whispered conversation.

Carefully, and very deliberately, I took out a small paring knife from my vest pocket, and cut a small slice of the chocolate, and swallowed it, making sure to make exaggerated noises of pleasure. That was all it took, they peered out at me one last time, then made their way, creeping over to me. Eyes flicking from my face, to the chocolate in my hand. None of them could have been past eight years old, three of them boys, and one of them a girl. They looked malnourished, but I had seen worse. They crowed close to each other, as though they were all magnetized together. They all wore clothes too big for them, the shortest shirt was so big for him, it covered his shorts, if he even had shorts on. What disturbed me more was the three boys all had numerous cuts and bruised on their faces and arms. I had to bite my lip before I did something stupid.

I cut a slice, and looked towards the bravest of the bunch, the tallest boy, with shaggy hair, uncut and straggly halfway down his neck. He had edged closer then the rest. "What is your name?" I asked, extending my hand with the chocolate in front of him, enticingly. His dirty little fingers hesitantly inched foreword, as though he was expecting me to yank the goodies out of his reach and strike him.

"Go ahead." I encouraged with a kind smile. Watching as he bit his lip, gave in, lightly snatching the treat from my hand, and stuffing it into his mouth almost faster then I could blink. After finished, he looked up at me, it was a calculated look. But there must have been something about me that he trusted, or at least liked, as he plopped himself down beside me, shook his hair out of his eyes, and mumbled: "Brayden", then held out his hand for another slice. The others were quick to follow suit, their name for a piece, though they were more wary then their leader and crouched on the floor, watching me.

With that bit of chocolate bar I learned more then I ever wanted to know about that place.It was a fortress held in check by fear. They used the women as slaves, very girl past her first period was either pregnant or nursing. Brandon had a insane plan to repopulate the world, whether the women wanted to or not. The women were made to obey by the threat of Brandon and his cronies killing their children, or worse, string up their husbands, brothers, or fathers outside on the fence, just low enough so the undead could reach, by high enough so they were eaten alive, slowely. What men were left were either coasting on the good behavior of their wifes, or were in on the whole rape. Everything made more sense now, the covert looks, the cowed populace, and the pile of burning dead outside. The children told me there had been a rebellion, and that many had died trying to either fight back or escape.

When the chocolate bar was finished, my fan club moved on, most likely to see if the others had similar treats to share.


	51. Chapter 51

**-All Standard and Previously stated repetitive disclaimers apply. AKA. Don't be naughty and steal!**

**Reviews:** Please and Thank you. As many have said, it means a lot, not only to my ego, but it truly helps me improve my writing skills. And at the moment, I am entering a different spectrum in the story, and therefore it has changed my writing style a bit, and am eager to hear your opinions and advice.

**Chapter 51**

I hurried back to Kirren, my heart thudding a bongo drum rhythm in my chest, so strong that I could feel the vibration from the very tips of my black booted toes. We had heard a few rumours of such places, but hadn't wanted to believe it. They were always half shadowed by rumours upon rumours, the truth could have abandoned them long ago…or so we had wished to believe. It made me sick to my stomach, and I almost did lose it as a heavy pregnant girl, no older then my twenty-two years (at the time), was led around the corner by an older woman with a head scarf. She was silently crying, as though she had no more strength left to sob. The wet trails almost blended in with her pale face, her eyes shadowed in their sockets, as though she hadn't slept for days. Neither of them seemed to even notice me as I pressed myself against the dirty wall to let them pass.

Once I reached the door way, despite the panic brewing in my breast, I took a moment to compose myself, straightening my gun belt, and holster, brushing my curls away from my eyes, and expelled a exaggerated breath of air before forcing on a nonchalant look as I entered.

It looked as though the deliberations had all wrapped up, and that we would be trading another CB radio for the testing. One we would have to take out of one of our own vehicles. But strangely, even though they were robbing us blind yet again, Brandon and his men did not look pleased. Shortly after I joined them, Thor and Brandon left out of a side door, followed by a number of nervous looking guards as they went outside to test the generator.

I moved up to Kirren, sidling up so close that I could smell him, and see the little beads of perspiration on his neck. And used the guise of straightening his radio cord as I whispered what I had found in his ear. His expression only proved to further crease his brow. As we walked out on the pretence of getting the radio for the trade he whispered that he had already found out. Once in the cab of the second truck I chanced to ask how, as I wedged myself between him on the drivers side, my head almost touching the floor as I took a screw driver to the bottom portion of the radio while he worked on the top.

"Well, as if his not so subtle questions of how many women we had at home weren't bad enough. He wanted me to trade you for the warranty test." He replied, his voice tight with anger. "What!" I spluttered almost swallowing a screw in my surprise indignation. "That's basically what I said." He replied, his voice muffled as he leaned down beside me, his head by mine to unhook some cables.

"Well, then what did you say?" I prodded, curious in spite of everything. "That you were priceless." He replied with a little grin. "Ha!" I said sarcastically, good naturally punching him in the shoulder as we hung upside down. "Don't make me beat you up hot shot." I said, with a grin as I finally removed off the last screw. Ducking my head, I sat up, looking the radio over. "What a rip." I commented distastefully, thinking about just how much this guy was ripping up off as I took the radio in both hands and backed out of the cab. But not four steps later as I was about to turn forward, I bumped into a guard.

Since I was backwards it took me by surprise and I stumbled into his gloved grip. Seconds ticked by, as I attempted to regain my balance. Finding it, I tried to move away, but he held fast. I squirmed, but still nothing. Things began to go in slow motion, the way he was holding me, I could only see what was in front of me. The radio dropped, scraping my knee's as it slid down to the ground. Kirren's curly auburn head raised over the dash on the drivers side. Through sun splintered light, I could see his eyes widen.

Seconds later, though it seems like minutes, my hat was ripped off, my sun glasses clattered to the ground with it, blinding me for a instant. And then through the messy curls, the cold barrel of a gun pushed against my skull…cold in spite of the noon sunlight.


	52. Chapter 52

**All Standard and Previously stated repetitive disclaimers apply. AKA. Don't be naughty and steal!**

**Reviews:** Please and Thank you. As many have said, it means a lot, not only to my ego, but it truly helps me improve my writing skills. And at the moment, I am entering a different spectrum in the story, and therefore it has changed my writing style a bit, and am eager to hear your opinions and advice.

**Chapter 52**

For a few moments my mind was completely blank, blinded by the sheer panic of a revolver to the temple. He began to drag me backwards, a strong arm locking around my neck, leaving me to scrabble against the fabric of his jacket, just to gain enough leverage not to choke. "Put the gun down! Don't make me kill her!" The man roared, as Kirren sighted around the cover of the truck door. When Kirren didn't comply the gun was mashed harder into my skull, so hard in fact, blinking lights spotted my vision.

"Get off me asshole." I muttered through clenched teeth, watching as Kirren edged closer around the door, but I could see his indecision, and that in itself caused that ever present mass of fear to slither around in my gut. Kirren always knew what to do, always.

"Shut up bitch!" The man ground out, tightening his arm around my neck, glancing backwards as he continued to drag me across the dirt. My eyes were still fixed on Kirren as we rounded a corner of the building, and entered the buildings shadow as Kirren disappeared from view. When he did, I viewed myself as entirely on my own. The need to act almost screamed through my veins. But brute forced seemed to get no where, the guy had to out weigh me by about two-hundred pounds. Not to mention he must have had abs of steel because jabbing my elbows into his gut was getting me nothing. Only a stronger and stronger grip around my neck. Time to try reason. "You don't want to do this! Let me go!" I tried, but he ignored me. Calling to his buddies or something. Reason? Ha. I should have known better. This dumb ass-hick probably didn't even know how to spell it.

Opting for using brains over brawn, I used his ever tightening choke-hold to my advantage, and fell limp in his grasp, making him believe I had fainted from lack of air. "Shit." He muttered, wrapping another arm over my waist to better drag me along.

I cracked a lid as the glare of the sun disappeared as he dragged me into a utility shed. I almost blew my cover when another voice, more high pitched, but decidedly male blared out as we entered. "What the fuck! What you kill her?" It spoke, and I fought the urge to flinch as a foul smelling hand pinched my face, then went down to check my pulse point.

"Your lucky, she's alive." He replied, nosily blowing out a rush of air from his nose. "Brandon would gut you like a fish if ya' killed her before he had a piece." He chuckled humourlessly, as he helped my kidnapper drag me closer to the oil burning lamp, and dumped me down unceremoniously into the moist dirt.

"Shut up you. When's the last time you've even seen a fucking fish?" He snarled, sitting down heavily, the metal of a chair screeching in protest.

"How much time do you think we have?" The high pitched man asked, moving to stand over me, prodding my body with his toe. "Not enough." The other grunted. "Well, maybe enough for you…" He continued with crude laugh.

"Fuck you!" The other mumbled, lighting a cigarette and inhaling deeply. There was a pause, then: "You think he'd notice?" He question to his friend. "Probably, but do you really want to find out?" The other mocked from the chair. After another pausing, the man let out a string of curses and other choice words, the chair springs screaming as he flopped down on his own chair.

"The fucker always gets the pretty ones." He complained, getting from the other a grunt of agreement. After an in determinable amount of time passes, it is hard to tell when you are attempting to be unconscious. "Why does he want this one anyway? He has his pick of all the ones inside?" He whined, restlessly getting to his feet and bending over me again. This time pawing roughly through my hair. "Why do you think shit head?" The other replied, "Besides, he likes them fresh and feisty. Didn't you hear? The broad has a mouth on her." "Nah, I was bringing the last of those fuckers to the fire when they came in." And another pause resounded in the metal shed before he spoke again. "Do you think it's true?" "What's true." The other man grunted, twisting in his seat. "You know…that they have lots of women there?" The nasty guy continued. "Enough for everyone…you know..Like Brandon said?" I had to fight to remain expressionless, as they talked so coarsely of my home.

But thankfully, soon enough, their radio crackled to life. But someone was cut off mid transmission by a deafening burst of static. After repeatedly attempting to raise their would-be caller they gave up, and instead attempted to raise their boss. Taking a risk I opened one eye, and the opportunity was all that I needed, they were both huddled around the at the table.

Slowly I unclipped my holster, wincing as it clicked. The small, whiny one turned sharply, taking in my figure for the one second he had before I put a bullet in his eye. The other was more seasoned, and didn't even turn around to look, simply diving behind a shelf for cover as he pulled out his weapon. Likewise I had launched myself out through the entrance, but the illusion of safety in the open air was quickly squelched as bullets pinged by, biting into the metal shed so close I swore I felt the breeze.

I scrabbled to find cover, finally almost diving behind the shed, thudding to the ground in a sprawling heap as the companying bullets pinged past. I almost wet myself when a low moan issued behind me. A small group of the undead squirmed against the perimeter fences barrier, stuffing their rotting limbs through the tiny gaps, trying in vain to reach me. Ignoring them the best I could, I peeked around the corner, squeezing off a few shots, trying to get a bearing from where the gunfire was coming from. Snipers. Shit.

"Kirren!" I yelled into my radio, loud over the metal ping of the bullets, "Where the fuck are you!" "Close." Came the immediate reply. And before I had a chance to push the call button, there was the booming echo of a shotgun, and a man fell screaming from the rooftop, slamming into the ground in a sickening snapping noise. Seconds later, another fell, limbs flailing widely as he too met the ground. Sighting, I peeked around the corner again, and took out a sniper firing at the closest corner to me. Was I sick to smile with relief?

A few more shots echoed through the yard, each bringing a smile to my lips as I recognized Kirren's firearm. Sloppy footsteps echoed from around the corner opposite to my position. The sound of heavy boots sucking in the dirty muck. Swinging around, I cited quickly, turning full around so I faced that other side, balancing on my knees, feeling the material squish into the mud. My instincts were correct, it was the man would had originally grabbed me. The big pig didn't even have his weapon up as he rounded the corner, and I didn't hesitate. Squeezing off a shot that took him straight in the chest. The man went down like an iron weight, staggering, and falling backwards into the rattling fence. Though those hungry mouths could not bite him, their hands slapped over his face and body, limply grabbing at his clothes. Moaning desperately as they trying to pull him closer. Screaming, and gurgling, he weakly tried to move away from the fence, but couldn't. Those strong fingers grasped him in place, even as he struggled to breath, the blood bubbling, trickling down from a crimson corner of his crackled lips.

And as I watched him take his last breaths, watching him try and form words, even as the last seconds of his life ticked by, I found I couldn't even enjoy it. The bastard had even taken the gift of dealing revenge away from me. I had found no satisfaction in his last breathes, in watching those eyes, wide and terrified as they witnessed those flailing arms clench around him. Nothing. I felt nothing. I suppose it should have disturbed me, disturbed me to have felt that nothingness. But it didn't.

I didn't even wait till his eyes dulled over with death, I turned, and took a quick look. Finding it clear, I cautious raced across the muddy path, pausing for cover behind a tree before I spotted Kirren, gaining his attention before he motioned it was all clear. And I slid slickly to his side in the muck. He gave me a quick once over, watching my face intently as grin curled on my lips. His eyes expressed what his face didn't, and I knew he was relieved. But then he surprised me as he pulled off a glove, and used a single finger to ripe away a stream of blood at that dribbled down from a gash on my cheek. "You alright?" He muttered quietly, the finger moving down to join the rest as his hand cupped my cheek softly. "Yes…Yes. You?" I managed, having to break off eye contact with him. The emotions in his eyes were almost too much for me process.

I forget his answer, as a few years have pasted since. But I remember the heated conversation that followed. Even after all the time that had pasted since the infestation, I still had the hero complex. I still wanted to save everyone. Kirren though, was less naïve then I, and shook my shoulders roughly as our argument came to a climax.

Looking away from those inquisitive eyes, I looked around, taking in everything, the woman standing in an upper window, apparently mindless of the previous gunfire, her hand pressed against the dirty glass. A young boy by her side, his ragged jeans ripped and holey in their disrepair, showing off few dull bruises. The last guard in our sights, slumped down around the corner, thinking himself safe. His own gun lax and drooping at his side as he took a swig from a flask that flashed metallic in the sun.

These were all the people we might not be able to save. Now let me pause to explain, this is not us being selfish and callous bastards. I wanted to save them, we all did I am sure. But we were also cautious. This situation was a dangerous one, the variables were extensive. We had a situation where the innocents were basically indistinguishable from the guilty.

We had the men who followed Brandon, the men who did not, who worked against their will for Brandon, surviving only on the good behaviour of their female spouses, or friends. Then there were the women too frightened to even meet your eyes. The thought of them even entertaining the idea of rising up against Brandon and his merry band of rapists was down to minus decimal points of probability. And then there was the older women. The ones past child bearing age, who were surviving only on the good graces their cooking, cleaning, and other abilities were granting them. The children were either too young to know the difference between a healthy and happy environment, or had already been poisoned by Brandon's beliefs.

It was a society held in by fear and tyranny. They had even just recently had a rebellion, those brave folks were all piled at the entrance, slowly smoking up into fluttering ash. We, were less then ten, and realistically, the men who might have been able to help us were stiffening corpses now. The situation was beyond hopeless.

"How many?" I asked quietly, as Kirren reloaded his shotgun, the cartages clicking home in a steady rhythm. "You know I can't say." He replied, eyes busy on the task. "Don't give me that crap hot shot." I demanded, inexplicably angry at him. Angry at him for his seeming ability to turn off his emotions, and squelch his fears.

"You know as well as I do what we are dealing with." He replied steadily. I wasn't sure if he was being purposely evasive, or if I was missing something, because it wasn't so cut and dry for me.

The others rounded the corner ahead of us, having obeyed the order and hidden themselves. Kirren signed to them, and they halted, plastering themselves against the wall so no one inside could see them. Though everyone had to have heard it, my silencer had been on when I took out the guards, but Kirren's shotgun didn't have a silencer. The that thing had echoed like a brazen gong.

Where the hell was Thor? I couldn't leave without him. And unfortunately, we couldn't leave without that generator. It was too important to the survival and longevity of our people. Finally, I could take it no longer, and threw caution to the wind, hammering down the call button with my thumb, and yelled for my friend.

No answer met my eager ears, but the sound of bullets around the corner did. The others were returning fire to some of Brandon's guards. Kirren signalled for them to take them out and fall back to the trucks. I could see where this was going, and knew couldn't end well. If he didn't return soon, we would have to leave him behind. Those last three words echoed in my head. We couldn't..but we would. Every single member, myself included, knew the risks of getting separated in a hostile situation like this. We all knew the possibility that we might be left to fend for ourselves, left behind so the rest would have a chance.

Sliding roughly back to Kirren side I was about to tell him I was going to look for him, when our resident giant, rounded the corner of the building. His shaggy hair stringy with muck and god knows what else, his bare arms straining as he held the generator up, the cords dragging behind him. And surprisingly, directly behind him, practically holding on to his belt loops, was a thin, skeleton of a woman.

I heard Kirren yell for Jules and Ben to start the trucks. The rest laid down cover fire as the chasing guards began shooting from around the corner that Thor and his female shadow had hardly rounded. They both hit the dirt as a spray of bullets pinged past them. The generator leaving his hands and sliding forward slightly in the mud. Grabbing my shotgun from where it fell by the truck, I laid down cover fire as Kirren and I moved forward to help. Somewhere Thor had lost his weapon, and they laid there, plastered in muck, helpless as we inched forward, from covering tree or pile of rubble to the other.

There was a pausing in the firing as the guard apparently need to reload, and we didn't waste the opportunity. Kirren and I raced forward, and I grabbed up the bony woman, supporting her by her waist as practically dragged her forward. Kirren helped Thor with the generator. I am not sure how we did it, but we did. Kirren and I threw both our charges in the back of each truck, and barely sat down in the back when rocks flew out behind us as Ben and Jules floored it. We covered ourselves as we busted out of the fence, liquidly splatters told us, without even having to look that a few zombies had met their ends by the reinforced fronts of our trucks.

I remember, I never actually caught my breath till we had rounded the block on that first godforsaken neighbourhood. We all caught one last sight of that blighted building, as shrill screams and the excited moans of the undead rose in a embittered symphony. I wanted to puke, but felt I would never have enough bile in which to truly echo the sickened feeling I felt.

As we drove, the ride rough and hard again our bruised bodies, I looked back at the truck behind us, gaining a wave from Ben in the drivers seat. I mutely waved back. Not sure if I should smile or cry. But that little woman at my side knew. She looked over at me, so filth ridden that with every movement dried dirt tumbled from her long thin hair and stretched tank top. She looked over, and she did both. A ghost of a smile, growing bigger as each house passed by, a smile of joy and freedom lit up her face, even as those fat tears rolled down from her darkened eyes. She knew. And I couldn't help myself but to join her.

We never truly learned her name. She actually never spoke, but I always had a feeling, even in the very short time I was with her, that she knew so much more then we could ever grasp. She died two weeks after coming to the Sanctuary. She delighted in watching. Watching the people, watching life. And though it strongly effected Thor, she died peacefully, and among people that had come to care for her, even though she never spoke a word.

That journey put a dark cloud over all of us. It was a hard lesson to learn, that even in these hard times, sometimes the enemy is not the rotting and the dead, but your living brother or sister.


	53. Chapter 53

**All Standard and Previously stated repetitive disclaimers apply. AKA. Don't be naughty and steal!**

**Reviews:** Please and Thank you. As many have said, it means a lot, not only to my ego, but it truly helps me improve my writing skills. And at the moment, I am entering a different spectrum in the story, and therefore it has changed my writing style a bit, and am eager to hear your opinions and advice.

**A/N:** I just wanted to mention something in regards to the last chapter, a reviewer mentioned that last chapter seemed rushed. And I apologize for that if it took away from the reading experience. I was indeed anxious to move on from that train of thought. I discovered a new avenue to try and simply wanted to end the story-line in that chapter, since it had basically dominated a few chapters already. The review made me re-read my chapter with a more critical eye, and for the first time notice the sense of haste in it. Which might not necessarily be a bad thing as the story is being told in present time, and is a bad memory for the character in question. (Ha, lame excuse I know.) Either way, thanks for those reviews folks, keep them coming!

**Chapter 53**

In all my haste to tell you of the origins of our home, how we have come to survive, even dare I say, flourish in relative luxury compared to most, during these times. I forgot to tell you about what happened after we arrived. When I could finally stop being brave, stop being the leader, and the tough one. When the adrenaline in my veins finally drained, and all I was felt with was the pain of losing everything, and everyone. It left me with cement in my heart, and hardly any will to raise myself out of my own misery.

All those weeks before coming to the Sanctuary, I had no time to think about mourning. I couldn't. It wasn't till a full week had passed since our arrival, when we were well into plans of stocking up our stores, even thinking of a building some sort of wall, that I finally surrendered to the inevitability of facing my own emotions.

I didn't expect it, nor did I welcome it. It hit me suddenly, like being clocked in the face during a sparring session with Kirren when he is in a foul frame of mind. (Believe me, I know. It has happened once or twice, recently actually, lately things between him and I have been strangely tense. The man can seriously drive me mental sometimes). See? He is doing it right now and he isn't even here!

Anyway. Like I said, it was sudden. I didn't come to a abrupt realization or anything, but all the same it was one of the most emotional, and heartrending experiences of my life. I was in my room, pulling blankets out of a mountain of my personal belongings that I had carted up after we decided to stay permanently. I yanked on a blanket, and a photo album tumbled out from the pile, flopping on the floor with a thump. I let the blanket fall, and reached for the garishly green bound book. The hideous thing had been a joke gift from Rachel after we found the treasure buried under mound of other albums in Winners, she hadn't been able to resist and had got it for me later.

I moved over to the small window in the room, leaning on the bright white sill as I opened it to the first page. I didn't even get past that page. The simple sight of those first two photographs shattered the last shred of control I had left. Tears rolls down my cheek, blind my vision. And the crying, god, I cried and cried. They were those stomach rending cries that made me choke on my own spit, and retch with the strength of the emotions teeming inside. I didn't even have the pretense of mind to muffle my cries or hold them back. I doubt I could have.

It felt like my world had just freshly come apart in front of me, not as though it was a wound reopened from three weeks ago. God, I remember thinking, had it only been three weeks? I felt so old and tired, like it had been three years instead...

How long had I been like this? Living purely by the second, and flying by the seat of my pants. My mind half-rooted in utter disbelief, the other in pure horror. I had been barely holding on. Existing from day to day because I was needed, getting through the next minutes because I was the one they turned to. For them. Was I really as strong as I was? Could it all have been a facade to instill hope into myself, and then to the others that we would survive? Did I even have that right to lead? Had I simply dusted of the mantle of leadership that had fallen from Dan's limp grip, after I had ended him? The album fell to the ground, slipping out of my loose fingers, but I never even heard it fall, my ears rang, and dots swarmed my vision.

I sank down into my mattress. Burying my head in a pillow that no longer smell of home, it smelled foreign and wrong. It reeked of everything my life had become, and had lost everything I had ever took for granted. I reached blindly for the few clothes I had left, for the blankets I had taken from the downstairs linen closet of my own home. But nothing retained the smell of home. Nothing. I remember how panic gripped me, I panicked because I felt was losing my home, my life. Simply losing that smell, that last shred I had been holding on to, just made me loose it.

I was too far gone to hear that soft knock, or the door that clicked open, nor the words spoken. But I did feel the arms, the body, and the warmth as it slid in behind me. I finally noticed the smell. It wasn't the smell of home, but it became the smell of my new anchor. And I cried harder still, wrapped in those unjudging arms, and poured out all my sadness, anger, fear, and hopes on those listening ears. As the tears coursed from my cheeks, to stream down in splotches onto his arms, arms that I clenched in my pain, as though trying to bring some essence of his strength into myself, I sobbed still.

When my tears finally dried up, and the sensation of illness subsided, I was left with a feeling of such profound exhaustion, that I could barely see, let alone think. But regardless, I looked up into the face of my confidante for the first time. He had come to me, hearing my pain, and he had enveloped me in his arms without a single word, pulling me as close as a lover, and letting me borrow his strength, borrow his soul, his ears, his arms...his everything.

From that moment on, Thor and I became the best of friends, and now we share all times together, the grief and the good. Because we know the secret to overcoming the fear and pain of the world we have been forced to endure and live in. He is my anchor, and I am his. And if I ever get lost, all I have to do is find him, and breath him in, and I will know where I am. For now, he is my home.


	54. Chapter 54

**All Standard and Previously stated repetitive disclaimers apply. AKA. Don't be naughty and steal!**

**Reviews:** Please and Thank you. As many have said, it means a lot, not only to my ego, but it truly helps me improve my writing skills. And at the moment, I am entering a different spectrum in the story, and therefore it has changed my writing style a bit, and am eager to hear your opinions and advice.

**A/N:** Hey guys, sorry this chapter has taken a bit longer then usual. I have been basically raped with the flu. Not to mention the joy's of homework. Also, for the first time in 53 chapters I was unsure how to proceed with the story, and needed a little while to think about my next move.

**Chapter 54**

The next morning after my meltdown I woke up, surprised to realize I had fallen asleep. I didn't remember even getting sleepy or Thor leaving, I didn't even remember it getting dark. Moving around, I leaned up against the far wall on my mattress, the smell of fresh paint still lingering in the room, and I sighed deeply. Leaning over, I picked up the green photo album, still lying in the same spot when it had fallen the night before, the first page bent. I tried to smooth it out as I flipped through the photos. Each one a glimpse into a past that no longer existed. Wiped away forever, to live on only in these brief snatches of better times. But before I could lose myself in the past again, Tia nudged open my bedroom door, her head craning around the door at me before she climbed up onto the bed, panting happily. Trying in vain to lick my face before flopping down tiredly, right on top of the album stretched across the blanket on my lap.

Smiling I petted her absentmindedly as I thought about what was in store for us next. These past few weeks I had been so focused on getting here, getting to safety, that I hadn't given much thought to anything else. So, as you can imagine, the thought of longevity was disconcerting to say the least.

I looked back down at the visible edges of the photo album. Catching a glimpse of a piece of scenery, a bit of clothing, even a face or two visible between the snoring canines paws. Running a finger down the vinyl edge, I sighed again. The past could wait, the living couldn't. And with that thought, I dislodged the disgruntled pooch from her throne, and headed to the bathroom to clean up.

When I arrived in the kitchen downstairs, it was close to 9 am. However, it seemed only Rachel was up and about. Her chin resting in her hands as she slipped tea, picking at some bread in front of her. I soon realized when I sat down, the reason why it was picked over. She was picking between the spots of mold.

"I thought we didn't have any bread left." I commented after pouring a cup of tea for myself and setting down across from her. "Neither did I. But I found this in the very back the deep freeze, it must have taken awhile to thaw out cause it wasn't too moldy when I found it." She replied, tearing off a piece of crust and stuffing it in her mouth.

"What are you thinking about?" I asked, eying her. I knew that look, she had a way of speaking with her face more then she did with words sometimes. It was hard to catch for a passerby, but I had known Rachel since Junior High, and I had come to know that look all too well.

She looked up, swinging her black hair out from her face, and for the first time I noticed one of her glasses lens' were cracked, and I wondered idly when that had happened. "How are you doing?" She questioned evasively, fixing me with a knowing look. I couldn't help by flush with embarrassment. They must have all heard it last night.

"Better. It...It just hit me you know?" I replied, looking down at my steaming tea mug, trying in vain to forget the bitter aftertaste of grief, as it had settled in the back of my throat the previous night. "Yeah..Yeah, I know. I am sorry." She replied, fiddling with the another piece of bread.

"Sorry about what?" I asked, skidding the chair back nosily and walking to the window, the one that over looked the back of the building. "I don't know. I am sorry about everything. All of this!" She replied in frustration, anger twisting her features for a moment as she moved her body around so her eyes could follow me as I paced around the kitchen. "What is really on your mind." I requested firmly. "Just spit it out Rach, you have that look, just get it out."

She grimaced, and took another sip of her tea. Before coming to stand with me at the window. "We are almost out of food. Nothing is keeping. We are down to hardly anything. Thor found the gas generators in storage but doesn't want to start them running till we have to. We don't have a lot of gas either, so thats also going to be a problem. We need to do something." She said, hands on her hips, a frown creasing her forehead.

The news didn't surprise me. We all knew we were low on food upon coming here. We had just taken matters of security and day to day survival as the more pressing of concerns. "How much propane do we have for that little stove Thor's been cooking on?" I asked, as we had found a propane run stove that had been placed in the kitchen, and had apparently been used by the construction workers before they were ready to set up the generators.

"Couple hours of run time, probably less." She replied, nudging the tank with her foot idly. "Not that it matters, we don't have a whole lot to cook on it." She concluded, her voice tinged with worry.

"One thing we don't have to worry about is ammo and guns." Came a steady voice from the hall as Joe came around the corner, his limp almost completely gone. "I finished the inventory, we are good to go for several months at least, though I wouldn't say no to picking more up. I don't think we should ever pass off the opportunity" He commented, snagging my half-finished cup of tea and draining it.

"I hope you get the flu." I commented with a smile, but he only raised an eyebrow at me in response. We all sat back down at the table, Joe leaning back in his chair slightly, the table wobbling as he occasionally braced himself on it.

I expelled a bent up breath of air exaggeratedly, thinking, trying to find a way around the problem without dwelling on the obvious solution. We were going to have to go back down to the world again. Go back down into that infested pit of death so we could live. It was somehow, almost too annoyingly ironic. God, words cannot describe how much I did not want to do this.

I felt safe here. Secure. Other then a few zombies, none had discovered us here. Up here the sounds of our world exploding and burning did not reach us, we could not hear the moaning or smell the sickly-sweet smell of decay and rot. Here we saw the stars, clear and bright every night. Here we could be human again, not just as filthy, half-human scum-bags, living on the road, and surviving day to day. Here, in the Sanctuary, we had a chance at a new life. Sure...it wasn't perfect. It was unfinished, we needed to build walls, we needed power, gas, food, clothes and a way to feed ourselves without having to go down to the towns and cities whenever the pantry emptied. We needed a lot of things, but in a way, we had more then we had ever even dared to dream!

Dave and Thor wandered down together later to join us. Tia close at their heels, playfully attacking Thor's toes until he bent his massive frame down, scooping her up in his arms as she snorted disgustedly, pouting and squirming slightly as he roughed her up with a giant hand. Thor looked down at me warmly, and I felt my cheeks heat up again in embarrassment. It was hard to accept that someone you barely knew, who you had known for less then a month, knew all of you. All your secrets and weaknesses, especially after you had just finished blubbering and crying all over them for the last few hours. Double that when you were someone who was supposed to be the leader of this little circus. Talk about awkward. But to his credit, he didn't say anything, just deposited the ruffled dog into my arms and grabbing a mug of his own for tea.

There were no two ways around it. We were going to have to go back down there. None of us liked it, but we all knew he had to be done. We had no choice really.

"What if we meet other people? Other survivors?" Dave questioned, following me as I brought my guns down stairs, so Joe could teach me more about maintenance and cleaning. "Well, we will invite them over for dinner." I replied with a forced smile, having answered a slew of 'what if' questions from him already. I knew he had a point, and he was scared, I was scared, we were all scared.

Finally, I turned around as we re-entered the kitchen, the others sitting around the table, with our various weapons spread across the counters and tables. "Dave, look, I know you are concerned. Hell, I am as scared as shit. I would rather do anything other then go back down there. But we have no choice, we need food and supplies. If we limited our lives because of 'what if's', we would have been dead a long time ago. Look, I know you and Trent didn't survive getting out of town by following the safest route? Right?" I questioned steadily, feeling like a jerk for bringing up his late brother.

He said nothing, but took my seat at the table without a word. Seeing no choice, I hopped up on the counter, leaning against the shelves, holding Dan's shot gun in my lap. Everyone was talking quietly, Joe was showing Rachel how to clean a small pistol she had claimed as one of her own. Thor came over to stand by me, handing me the holster I had been using during the trip up, and the handgun I had picked up for myself at Loopy Lee's

"Thanks." I replied, laying it on my lap with the shot gun, gingerly balancing them together. "We should go tomorrow, early in the morning. It's too late now." He commented, squinting out the front window at the winter sun. "Yeah. Lets just get organized for now. We should make a list of supplies we need." I replied, putting the weapons to the side, and sliding down the counter, picking up and pen and paper.

"Why?" Dave snorted, "We need basically everything." He commented, voiced tinged with sarcasm as he clenched a fist around his own cup of tea. But again, I ignored it, and continued to neatly write out the items.

"I wonder if Richard is okay." Rachel commented suddenly, craning her head around to look at me, taking in my pause, the pen poised before the paper as the thought sunk in. I hadn't thought about him for days. And I was flooded with guilt. How could I not? We have been together for over fours years...And we hadn't heard from him since the first week. Did he and his family make it to Vernon? To that summer cabin? I didn't see how. Somehow, I couldn't make myself believe it. And that scared me more then anything, I couldn't even deny it. I simply sat there, continuing my list after a few minutes, as the conversation continued around me.

Later, taking my handgun with me, I slipped outside alone. Feeling the winter chill seep through my runners as I sunk slightly in the uncleared snow. Tonight, the moon and the stars stayed hidden, wreathed in the dirty gray clouds. And as I took in the snowy forms of the our cars, I remembered someone else who had been forgotten. Going back inside, I snagged the keys from my room, letting the dog accompany me back downstairs, before she smelled the soup cooking in the kitchen and left me alone again in search of supper.

I started up the police car, and switched to DJ Steve's station. Nothing but static met my ears for a moment. But then, a message played, it seemed to be caught in a loop, playing the same message over and over.

"_Yo, yo, yo, Listeners! This is your post-apocalyptic buddy DJ Steve here! I have decided it is time to move on from this here joint. Time for me to try my luck outside. To get away."_

He began, voice alternating between a forced cheerfulness, and a voice that was almost shaking and breaking with tension. He began again after a pointed pause.

"_I gotta go. There is no food left, and I don't know how much longer the water will keep going. It's been almost two weeks."_

He croaked, panic creeping slowly into his voice, I could even hear his heavy breathing as it crackled loudly in the background.

"_No ones coming...everyone is gone. It is all quiet except for them. I can't sleep at night anymore, all I can hear is them..."_

He trailed off, and I heard his computer chair creaking slightly as the sound of shuffling and the clear sound of something metallic clinked in the background.

"_I am ready, just have to put this thing on a loop...if anyone is still listening. No one has called in days and days...I am not sure if I am alone...or... Alright. Yeah. This fucking sucks... I can't believe they left me here!"_

He yelled disgustedly, the sound of shattering glass punctuated his comment, as though he had thrown something in his anger.

"_I am..I am going to try and head up north. I figure the less people the better...I just wish..Well...Okay! Fuck all this! I am leaving, I gotta go now, or I never will!"_

He suddenly stated, even his words were rushed, I could almost hear him packing, rushing around..getting up his nerve.

"_I guess this is DJ Steve's last broadcast boys! I guess they finally did shut me down. Undead fuckers...But hey, don'tcha all worry about me now. Stevy-boy here can take care of himself."_

He chuckled mirthlessly, the click of metal on metal echoing more distinctly in the background. This time the sound was clear enough for me to recognize, it was the cocking of a gun. I froze, thinking I might be forced to hear his last moments. But I shouldn't have worried myself, DJ Steve was too good to do himself in without trying to fight first.

"_Honestly, though, to anyone still out there...Good luck. I mean it. I think we are all going to need it now... And..well, live. Go and live for everyone who can't. Make it...and, well...Peace out ya'll..."_

He finished, the message dissolving into static. Ten seconds later the message began to repeat again. "Good luck." I murmured under my breath, wondering for a moment how he might have done it, and wondering if he made it, before turning on the CB radio. I switched randomly through the channels, listening for evidence of any other survivors. But I was left frustrated when each channel remained depressingly silent.

We still spent a lot of time listening on the air-waves, every once and a while broadcasting our position, desperate for some voices other then our own. It was good to know we weren't alone.

I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel, peering out into the wooded darkness. My vision limited to the glimmer of the cars headlights. Sighing, I looked around, we had all been busy the last few days, Thor and Joe were busy felling trees for a barrier or a fence around the compound. Though we were still brainstorming the way in, thinking of building a gate of some sort. Though we lacked the materials at the moment to do much other then block it with our vehicles. Rachel had been bringing supplies that had been stored in the garage into the main building, and had been manning the CB radio in the control-like weather tower on the uppermost floor. And Dave..well Dave had been doing his own thing mainly. He tended to disappear for long periods of time, emerging at odd hours, and seeming to only participate in the group and all the work we had to do when he was given a specific task. Something which I hated doing. I knew I was putting off talking to him about it. But, I didn't want to deal with it at this point, I had a lot on my plate already.

I turned off the car, and stepped out into the late winter air again. I could hear the murmur of voices from inside, Rachel's laugh, and the clang of dishes being moved around. And, in spite of myself, and my nervousness for our trip tomorrow, I smiled. We were living, living and surviving for all the ones that didn't make it. And that was worth something.


	55. Chapter 55

**All Standard and Previously stated repetitive disclaimers apply. AKA. Don't be naughty and steal!**

**Reviews:** Please and Thank you. As many have said, it means a lot, not only to my ego, but it truly helps me improve my writing skills. And at the moment, I am entering a different spectrum in the story, and therefore it has changed my writing style a bit, and am eager to hear your opinions and advice.

**A/N:** Hey guys, sorry this chapter has taken a bit longer then usual. I have been basically raped with the flu. Not to mention the joy's of homework. Also, for the first time in 54 chapters I was unsure how to proceed with the story, and needed a little while to think about my next move.

**Chapter 55**

The next day began cloudy. An oppressive type of day, one that made you want to brew hot chocolate, and watch from the heated comfort of your living room as the clouds chased each other across the sky. But we had neither the luxury of heat, hot chocolate, a real home, or time. I sat, squeezed in the middle in the front seat of Joe's truck, bouncing along uncomfortably as Thor, Joe and I made our way down the bumpy road back down to civilization.

I hardly had room to breath, stuck right between the two men, like some sort of sandwich filling. Thor was taking up so much room that I wasn't sure where to appropriately put my limbs. Joe was even having difficulties changing gears as I was stuffed right in beside him, my legs wedged between the stick.

"Well this is awkward." I managed, after digging through my backpack for a spare box of bullets, triple checking in my stress, making sure I had everything. Ending up smacking Thor in the nose with my elbow. "I'll say." Thor commented, checking in his nose in the mirror for damage.

"Almost there guys." Joe replied peaceably. "Anyone up for Twenty questions?" He chuckled, laughing as we all groaned.

Another hour later, we finally emerged from the service road. Joe slowed to a stop as we paused on the dirt embankment before it merged with the highway. "Lets go." I said boldly, not hesitating in the slightest. But letting my hand drift down to rest on my hip-holster. Nervous? Hell, I was close to terrified.

As we drove, we noticed far more evidence of slaughter then had been along this stretch of road when we had first traveled it. I remembered driving along the road in the squad car, going maybe a few hours in some places without seeing more then a single walking corpse. But now, though still thin, there seemed to be more staggering around.

We turned the corner on to the next branch of highway, and Joe cursed, slamming on the breaks in surprise. It was a mini-van, crumpled into a tree a few meters off the road. "Holy shit." I exclaimed, forgetting all propriety and leaning over Thor's lap to get a better look.

It appeared to have initially been on fire. The blue paint was seared and blackened around the hood. The front windshield was covered in blood, and even through the gore, the spider-web like breaks could be scene, as though someone repeated bashed their head into the windshield from the inside.

A body was slumpt over the wheel unmoving, blackened by the smoke. Following from the front were the bloody smudges that covered the other windows. But even more disturbing, and I must admit, slightly humorous in retrospect, was the sliding door that gaped open, revealing a squirming, squalling zombie, still buckled in tightly by her seatbelt.

"Holy fuck.." Thor exclaimed. As we watched, hardly able to take our eyes from the weirdly riveting sight. Watching as it growled, scissoring it's hands toward us, tugging again and again at the straps holding it. Gaining only a few inches of clearance before being snapped back again. "I wonder how long it's being doing that." Joe commented idly, leaning in closely over my shoulder to get a better view.

A ragged howl brought us out of our thoughts, and we looked to the front just in time to watch a zombie slam into the front of Joe's truck, beating filthy fists on the grill, mouth gnashing horribly in it's rage. "Hey!" Joe yelled indignantly, reversing quickly, as the thing began an odd gangly-legged chase after us. "A handicapped zombie and a zombie stuck in a seat-belt? All in one day?" I commented, laughing in spite of myself. "Thats rich."

"Dude... Just run it over." Thor finally exclaimed, as Joe continually kept the truck in a jerking backwards roll away from the determined, but clearly handicapped zombie. "Oh. Right. Shit." Joe replied, as though the idea had only just occurred to him, before jerking the stick back to normal, and stepped on the gas. I winced as the echo of the meaty thunk of it's body met the trucks front.

A few minutes later, I finally broke the silence. "Well...that was different." I commented with a chuckle, feeling half guilty I was even finding the situation funny. So I was surprised when the others joined in, it was a nice break to the mounting tension.

We had decided the night before that only three would go, leaving two behind. Rachel had argued passionately to go, and we ended up having the first major blow out of our friendship over it. Finally, after practically beating her door down, I think I knocked for over an hour, I explained my reasoning. Dave had expressed no interest in going, and therefore it was almost a given that he would stay. I wanted her to stay, to be with him. She knew him the best, and was the closest friend he had in the group. I didn't want to leave him along with just anyone...I was worried about him. He had taken his twins death very hard, not that I blamed him. She let me off the hook, but not until I promised I wasn't trying to protect her. I had to lie. It is hard not to at least try and protect your best friend, even harder when you know she is fully capable of handling it, and can read you like an open book.

We stopped at the first house we saw, leaving the forestry building about a mile off from the service road until another time, the metal structure, squat and shuttered closed, looking a bit more imposing then we were up to the first time out. Or...at least I felt that way.

Cautiously, we crunched up the snowy gravel driveway, until the thin forest gave way to a rather beautiful cabin. "I am not sure how much we will get here." Joe commented, bringing the truck to a stop as we all surveyed the area. It didn't look as though the snow had been disturbed all winter.

"Well, it's worth a look. What they will have in food will be nonperishable. And thats what we need." Thor replied, swinging open the door, unfolding his massive frame from the seat and stepping down easily. "We need to check for gas, propane, or anything else useful. Lets start with that storage thingie.." I added, gesturing to the shed-like building off to the left side of the property, as I awkwardly jumped down from the truck.

I unclipped my handgun from the holster on my hip, letting the cool metal warm into my hands, holding it in front of me in my left hand, as my right reached for the door handle. I rattled it experimentally, figuring if one was inside, it would be putting up a fuss by now.

I felt the others tense behind me, and I paused, drawing the moment out unintentionally before clicking back the lock and yanking up the door. It was all very anti-climatic. Not even a stray rake jumped out to greet the suspense. I expelled the breath I had been holding in relief.

"Clear." I affirmed, moving out of the way as Joe slided in. "Sweet! Anyone up for a BBQ?" He asked, bending over inspect a relatively new looking BBQ. "You know it." I replied, mouth watering as I tried to remember what my Dad's home cooked steak tasted like, grabbing a few spare propane tanks a fantasied. I had a hard time dragging them through the snow to the truck, but decided not to complain when I looked up and saw both guys maneuvering the BBQ out of the shed.

Cautiously, I moved up to the cabin, shaking out the snow from my shoes as I got on the deck. The place looked pristine, there wasn't even a smudge of dirt marring the wood decking. I tried the door and front window, trying in vain to peer through the blinds.

"Locked?" Thor called from the truck bed where they were strapping down the BBQ. "Anyone here have a childhood of delinquency?" I called playfully as I rattled the door-knob.

"Is it true those hair things can do it?" Joe grunted from the truck as he pushed the BBQ forward. "What? You mean bobby pins?" I questioned, raising an eye brow. "Yeah, those." He replied, dusting off his hands. "How should I know." I replied, "I had a sheltered childhood remember?" I finished, retrying the window again, pulling on it in irritation.

"Just break it." Thor called, thudding nosily to the ground, hoisting the propane tanks into the bank two at a time. "Hold up, let me try around back." I replied, reluctant to break the glass and leave an opening exposed.

In short, we ended up having to break a window. The place was locked up tighter then a corpses clenched fists. We all went our separate ways in the small house. Thor and Joe heading straight for the basement, as I went through the kitchen cupboards and closets, bringing out all the canned food, and nonperishables they had.

I smiled a bit, looking at the refrigerator magnets. Watching the pictures as they progressed through the years. A young couple, getting older, having children, the children growing progressively older, until unfamiliar friends slided into the photographs. It was like watching a family's entire time line in on their fridge. It was depressing, I couldn't help but wonder how they all died. How each person met their individual ends. Why they didn't try to make it here? Or if they did, how far did they get?

Joe finally provided me with a distraction, as he tromp up into the kitchen, his hiking boots leaving dirty black smudges on the floor. "You okay?" He asked, holding some sort of tool kit in his hand,and a bunch of rolled up tarp in the other.

"Always." I replied lightly, sending him a small smile. "Liar." He responded, dropping his booty on the ground to go back down for another load. I shook my head, and examined a half a sack of flour. He was right though, I was a liar.

The day went on, much like this for the rest of the daylight hours. We ferried all the goods back and forth from the cabin to the truck. Filling the back with an assortment of exciting things. Things that normal person in a normal situation SHOULD'NT get excited over. But god, it WAS exciting.

Real mattresses and bedding! Toasters, towels, kitchen supplies, shovels, tools, chairs, canned soups, and preserves. By the time we decided to head back, we had another pile in the stripped living room, ready to be taken out the next day. Thor was even thinking about ripping up the carpet later, to furnish the concrete basement back home. And I was adamant on bringing the bed frames as well, so we could finally sleep on real beds! I couldn't help up be excited.

We all sang along in the car on the way home, passing around a bag of slightly stale chocolate chips I had dug out of the kitchen. God, it had been ages since I had tasted chocolate. And I doubted I had ever tasted anything that good, in my entire life.

And, for a few hours, as we drove home along the zombie-free highway, I was able to delude myself into believing that life was strangely good again, as we laughed and stuffed ourselves sick with that stale chocolate. Taste buds delighting as they melted sweetly into our tongues. Minds, for once, fully on the present, and not dwelling in the past.


	56. Chapter 56

**All Standard and Previously stated repetitive disclaimers apply. AKA. Don't be naughty and steal!**

**Reviews:** Please and Thank you. As many have said, it means a lot, not only to my ego, but it truly helps me improve my writing skills. And at the moment, I am entering a different spectrum in the story, and therefore it has changed my writing style a bit, and am eager to hear your opinions and advice.

**Chapter 56**

The following days passed slowly like this. Our lives consisted of raiding the cabins and houses nearest to us. We had tried to get gas from the nearest station, but we were driven away when a horde of the undead almost surrounded us as we were setting up the pump. We learned a powerful lesson about observation that day. The speed in which they ran in, we had almost no warning. I am sure you all remember the speed the fresh ones have? I guess it was just another reminder of the uncertain, and changing world we now live in.

Since then, we had stayed near home, that incident causing us, especially me, to be wary of leaving the relative safety of our home. But I was all too aware that soon, we needed to fill up on gas. The only vehicle with a decent amount was Joe's truck, and even then we had enough gas for maybe two more trips. We couldn't even afford to waste what little gas was left in the cruiser and the other truck to listen to the CB radio, so at night we all huddled around the one Rachel found in the weather station. Occasionally catching a few static garbled sentences, and trying to reply in kind. So far we had been here almost two weeks, and no one had joined us, regardless of our constant calls. 

We were all beginning to get edgy, the bad winter weather kept us inside quite a bit. The length of daylight was also limited, and I was beginning to feel a sort of dread. That we were alone, forgotten by the rest of the world, too removed from the other survivors. We knew they were out there, but how I remember it now, it felt like we were the only ones still alive in the universe.

To make matters worse, moral was hitting rock bottom. The euphoria of finding this haven had long since worn off. Now, we were left with the rather harsh realtys of survival. The constant struggle for food, water, supplies, and of course our most pressing problem...gas. The gas generators we had were useless unless we restocked our supply, and as I mentioned, even driving was soon to become a serious issue.

Rachel was becoming despondent, she usually manned the CB radio in the weather station, repeating our message, and searching for survivors. But not only had the radio become steadily more silent, no one was responding to our messages. I am writing this tonight, lying on my bed, under the full power of bright electrical lights. A a steaming cup of coffee on my bedside table, and my writing pad propped up on my knees, and I remember back to that time, I remember how, no matter how hard I tried, how my spirits plummeted when the sun went down. When all we had for light were candles and dimming flashlights. Eating cold soup and cold canned vegetables, dressed in layer, upon layer to ward off the winter chill, a kind of chill that never truly left your bones. Yes...I remember those days.

Thor and Joe seemed to work to keep their thoughts at bay. They woke up early, and only ceased when the sun set. Their hard work showed, the clearing was full of cut timber, and they were still working on the fences design. On the outside, it seemed as though they were fine, but on the inside I knew, at least Joe, was hurting. He had always made liberal use of the potency of alcohol, he certainly wasn't known as the "Tank" among our friends for nothing. But lately, even I had to worry about the amount of time he was spending in the company of whiskey's strong burn, and vodka's smooth, easy going nature.

Thor, I was unsure of, though our friendship only grew by the day, he was still tight-lipped about his life before the infestation, and even more silent about his family. I knew though, after seeing his reaction to the picture on his cell, the one I saw with him dunking a smiling man into a snowbank, and the pretty woman laughing in the background, that it couldn't have been good. He still carried it in his pocket, even though the battery had long since run out.

And Dave was a whole other problem. He had almost completely withdrawn from the rest of us. Still leaving mysteriously at times, only saying that he was going for a walk, going to collect firewood, or going to scout the area, but never telling us what he was really doing. I was worried about him, frankly, everyone was worried about him. I felt torn between not wanting to interfere with his grief, and taking him by the shoulders and shaking him. I was desperate to have, not only the old Dave back, but for him to start contributing again...we needed him in more ways then one. 

I was tired of his brush-offs and him outrightly ignoring my attempts at conversation. So, I decided to follow him, to attempt to catch him alone and talk to him. I waited till the next time he left, a bag in his hand and a backpack strapped to his back. I watched from my window as he picked up a shovel leaning on a piece of cut up wood, and then disappeared into the brush, heading away from the compounds buildings.

I caught up with him a few minutes later in a small clearing. But when I emerged from the brush, walking quietly, I stopped dead. The earth was churned up and all the snow was removed, piled in a dirt speckled mess at the far side. The ground was broken and raw, the whole clearing showing signs of activity. And I found out why, four makeshift cross's stood in a row, each topped by small mound of earth. They were graves, the naked wood etched carefully with the names of his family. I could easily see Trent's grave, his skater hat draped lovingly atop it, shifting slightly in the wind. 

I was about to turn around and go back, to give him the privacy he needed, when the shovel, half emersed in a large pile of dirt caught my eye. There was another hole... much larger then the other four, and I could just make out the pieces of another cross at his feet. Confused, I stayed silent, what would he need another grave for? 


	57. Chapter 57

**All Standard and Previously stated repetitive disclaimers apply. AKA. Don't be naughty and steal!**

**Reviews:** I definitely appreciate them. As the story is continuing I am finding it a bit more challenging to write...I mean, it is on it's 57th chapter! Therefore, keep keep reviewing, it is definitely keeping me writing.

**A/N #2:** Thanks to all those who have been reviewing anonymously as well. I make an effort the reply to all my reviews, but since I cannot reply to yours, thank you all very much for the support! You guys ALL rock!

**Chapter 57**

I remained completely mystified, watching as he braced himself at the holes side, stepping down lightly and throwing off his jacket before grabbing the shovel and beginning to dig once more. I could hear him breathing heavily as he worked, grunting in exertion as he paused every now and again to carefully toss up a rock or odd bit of wood that he encountered as he dug.

The speed of his digging mounted, increasing until he was digging furiously. There was so much force behind his thrusts that I could actually hear the rocks and pebbles scrapping at the shovel harshly, before they were flung with abandon over his shoulder. I was about to go to him, worried for him, when he slumpt to the side of the hole with a pained cry, the shovel clanging nosily from his hands. I stopped in my tracks, rendered immobile with the silent force of his grief, watching from my spot, half-hidden by a tangle of thorny brush, as his whole body shook with silent sobs. 

I could hear him whispering, half heard strains of words, garbled as the wind tossed them around, there was a long pause afterwards, as he looked expectantly over at the silent crosses beside him. But when the clearing stayed silent, he let out a angry yell, and flung the shovel away from him in his rage. From my place in the trampled snow, I couldn't help but shiver, becoming more wary and uncomfortable as the minutes ticked by.

Finally, he turned and climbed unsteadily out of the hole, breathing still erratic and loud. He sat down heavily on a mouldering log, picking absentmindedly at the bits and pieces of moss that poked out of the snow. His behavior was erratic, switching from boiling anger to frustration, then to depressive silence. And his motions were so bizarre, his obsessive movements.. well basically everything he was doing. I wasn't sure what to do, if I should comfort him or leave him alone.

With a muffled exclamation, he lurched up from his perch, meticulously straightening the crosses, and brushing the dirt smooth over the bumps in the earth, leaving no spot untouched. He was covered, elbow-deep in grim before he stopped.

I heard him sigh deeply, watching as he looked up at the gray sky before kneeling down, balancing on his heels, as he took out a role of wire from his backpack. I watched for over a half an hour as he puttered around the clearing, putting together the last cross, shuffling through his back pack, and just sitting there, as though waiting for something. Finally, he wiped a dirty hand across his face, smearing a trail of dirt across it. He wiped his hands on his jeans, taking out a folded crumple of pages from his pocket, smoothing them out carefully, before zipping up his sack and patiently balancing the letter on the top, tucking it into the loops.

In growing horror, my brain processed the information that was zipping through my mind. He couldn't be thinking...Oh my god...could he? Still, I couldn't move, I could hardly breathe. But, he continued with his strange resolutions, taking off his hat, revealing a mop of damp hat hair. Then he removed his jacket, folding, and placing it on a snow free section of the log, putting the hat on the top.

He halted, standing still for a long time, breathing in nosily, hands clenched at his sides. After a moment, his fingers crept up to softly caress the handgun on his hip, as his body shivered violently in his thin t-shirt. He shook his head suddenly, as though ridding himself of disturbing thoughts, and turned so I could see his face. It was set in a grim, set in a steady line, but I could see the hesitation the boiled in those soft blue eyes. 

Nevertheless though, his hands were bold, and the clearing echoed with noise as his unclipped the snaps on the holster, clicking the safety off, and pulling the weapon free. His face was pained, and he turned, averting his eyes from those lonely crosses...as though ashamed.

Then, hardly without ceremony, his moved away from the log, and closer to the graves, still not looking at them. He turned, seeming to look directly at me through the bush. His eyes wide, lips pulled back, face aflame with an emotion I could not define, but seeing it sent shivers down my spine. 

And quickly, so quickly, before I could even blink, mashed the gun to his temple and squeezed his eyes shut, his other arm raising in front of him, as though blinding reaching for something distant...now something close to being within his grasp...


	58. Chapter 58

**All Standard and Previously stated repetitive disclaimers apply. AKA. Don't be naughty and steal!**

**Reviews:** I definitely appreciate them. As the story is continuing I am finding it a bit more challenging to write...I mean, it is on it's 58th chapter! Therefore, keep keep reviewing, it is definitely keeping me writing.

**A/N #1:** Thanks to all those who have been reviewing anonymously as well. I make an effort the reply to all my reviews, but since I cannot reply to yours, thank you all very much for the support! You guys ALL rock!

**Chapter 58**

I lurched forward, the thorns on the brush searing my skin in needle-like pricks as my horror-frozen brain finally released me from my immobility. But before I could call out to him, a snapping twig, crushed under my boot alerted him, sending him whirling to face me, his gun snapping down from his temple, to rest at my heart.

Looking back on it now, I find it ironic how his first target was my heart, considering how torn and broken his own was. Instead of thinking of the kill, he was still thinking only of the pain.

We stood still for a long moment, both silent in the dirt strewn clearing, eying each other speculatively. His gun wavered, but he held his ground, still aiming at me even as I took a small step into the clearing, unveiling myself from the shadows. And even from the few meters of distance between us, I could see the nervous sweat forming on his forehead, and the wildness in his eyes.

"Dave...Dave it's me." I cautioned, holding my hands up in what I hoped was a placating gesture. "What are you doing here." He snarled, taking a healthy step back from me as I took a few small steps toward him.

"I could ask you the same thing." I returned, my brain racing, trying to determine how to diffuse the situation. "It doesn't matter." He muttered, casting a quick peek over his shoulder at the gaping hole, the earth sliced raw, wounded, not so different then us.

"None of this matters! None of it!" He almost yelled, his other hand flinging about him to accent his point. "None of what matters?" I replied, unable to keep my eyes from shifting back to the wavering gun.

"Oh, you know!" He replied, his tone cold. "You know. You might have gotten us here...but everything is over! Over!" He raged, anger evident in his voice as he strode over to me, facing me closely.

I opened my mouth to speak, but he overrode me, stepping into my face, so close I could smell the tang of raw earth and the familiar odor of perspiration. "Don't you deny it!" He hissed, the gun strangely lowering from my breast as he stared at me.

The teeming vat of emotions inside me came to a broil. Pity, horror, fear, and a myriad of countless others vied for attention, but what I wasn't expecting to emerge was the iron-cold spike of anger.

"So..." I began coldly, searching the cold blue eyes of my friend, looking for the man I had known, the one I had laughed with, shared with, lived with...but I found only this ghost. This shell, this mere husk of the strong, kind-hearted man I had once known.

"So, you will just end it all yourself? Hmm? Save those bastards the trouble!?" I replied, my voice cracking with emotion, my hands clenched into violent fists at my sides. "Why not! There isn't anything fucking left! Nothing...no one." He finished, voice growing distant, losing it's fire as he looked down at the gun in his grasp, running a filthy thumb across the barrel.

When I didn't reply he stepped away from me, moving back towards the hole. "Just..Just leave me the fuck alone." He moaned, swiping the dripped sweat from his forehead, gaze zipping from the gun, to the grave, and back again to me.

He turned his back on me, but quickly became agitated when I didn't moved to leave. "Go away!" He yelled, his back still turned, but gesturing with the gun, as though he couldn't bear to look me in the eye. Disgust and anger rose in my throat like bile, overwhelming me with the furiousity of my own emotions.

"I didn't save us...bring us here.. just to let you kill yourself...just because you think it is all over!!" I exploded, throwing caution and tact to the proverbial winds of chance and striding up behind him, yanking him backward by the neck of his t-shirt, forcing him to look at me.

I didn't give him a minute to collect himself, using both is physical and emotional imbalance keep him flailing as I held on to him. "You disgust me! We go through all this! EVERYTHING! Literally to fucking hell and back, and you ...YOU! ..." I continued, voice echoing through the clearing as I paused to formed my jumbled thoughts.

"Do you think thats what Dan died for, what Trent died for Dave? Do you!? Do you think he would want you to kill yourself?" I continued, my voice falling softer as I shoved his ear close to my face.

"Nothing is over. Nothing, to done until we are all gone. Nothing is a sure thing. I never said it would be. But killing yourself, will being helping them..." I continued, half dragging him forward so we faced the graves, using all my weight to keep him from turning away.

"You will be helping them, the ones that killed your family." I replied, forcing him to look over the crosses the lined the ground before us. **"Look at them!"** I roared suddenly, causing him to tear his eyes up from his feet.

"They killed Dan. The killed Trent. They killed everyone. My family, my friends, Richard... Your family...Do you really want too add another to their list? Do you want me to have to bury your body?! Do you! Do you want me to have to walk back alone. And tell your friends, YOUR family now, that you couldn't take it!? That **YOU** abandoned them!?" I questioned, the tone of my voice scaring even myself as each word fell like iron weights from my lips.

"Do..Do you really want to die? Do you really want to lose that chance, that hope that still lives, lives with us? Do you want to?" I questioned, tone softening as my own emotions got the best of me, anger being blanketed, softened by the others.

It was the longest few minutes of my life. Staring him straight in the eye, knowing I just extended the last chance to him. It was the most critical moment, where, for the first time in my life, someones life hung directly on me. If I failed, and he succumbed to his fear and despair, whose to say the others could resist? Whose to say I could bear it? In a way, it was not just his life that lay in the balance, it was every single one of us.

I was also painfully aware that it was not up to me if he lived, or died. (As much as I might wish to have such control at times) It was, in the end, up to Dave. I could help him on this journey, but only he could set himself out on his path, wherever it might go to lead.

It is something I have come to learn in my years here, in this new world, that someone needs to choose freely, whatever the matter. As if it is not a decision made by them, made by the very essence of who they are and what they believe, then it is not a decision at all. Dave needed to choose, to choose life. For if I made that choice for him, who is to say he wouldn't attempt this again?

His breathing was harsh and ragged by my ear, his whole body heaving and trembling, his eyes squeezed shut, just as they had been before. The climactic moment only built, built until I could bear the silent on longer. "Where there is life Dave, there is hope. Nothing is over until you say it is." I said softly, watching his face as his jaw muscles clenched.

He didn't reply, in fact, we both stayed silent after that. So silent, each deeply submerged in our own thoughts, that I didn't noticed when it started. The first salty drop that fell on my fingers, still clenched around his neck collar startled me. It was slow at first, but like a growing rain storm, the drops began to fall. He was crying.

He stumbled into me, throwing the gun away from him as though burned, hands moving to cover his face. I didn't hesitate, though I hadn't known what to do before, I knew now. I took him in my arms, letting gravity slip us roughly to the ground, and hugged him. Giving him, through our embrace, the little strength I had to give, but mostly, giving him the comfort that came with knowing that he was not alone.

He did not nosily cry like I had, nor did he let his pain take a voice. His grief was beyond that. He sobbed, his whole body shaking, his arms like vices around me, pinching the breath from my lungs, but yet, I refused to let him go. He needed me.

Later, I remember the look in his eyes when he finally untangled himself from my arms. The husk of the man was still there, but now, the presence of the man I knew, and knew so well, fought to remain. We all have our own personal demons to fight, Dave simply found his early.

He was embarrassed, horrified, disgusted, he could hardly form a sentence to speak to me. But I swept all that aside, as the one emotion, that of disappointment, was not present. He was not disappointed that he was still alive. He had made his choice.

**He had chosen to believe in hope, to believe in life. He had chosen to stay!**

We never spoke of that day again. Nor did I tell the others. In all rights, I should have, but for some reason, I never did. We walked back to the station together, leaving those empty markers, and the lonely grave to the darkening night sky. But when I returned the following day, coming back to collect the shovel, I found that grave filled in, and the cross marking it, had disappeared. And when I returned to our home, brushing the snow from my mittens as I entered the kitchen, I caught his eye from across the room where he was nursing a cup of steaming liquid, helping Rachel with a pile of maps, and I smiled. It was a small step, but he had made it. He had taken up his own path, and chosen his course.


	59. Chapter 59

**All Standard and Previously stated repetitive disclaimers apply. AKA. Don't be naughty and steal!**

**Reviews:** I definitely appreciate them. As the story is continuing I am finding it a bit more challenging to write. Therefore, please keep reviewing, it is definitely keeping me writing.

**A/N #1:** Thanks to all those who have been reviewing anonymously as well. I make an effort the reply to all my reviews, but since I cannot reply to yours, thank you all very much for the support! You guys ALL rock!

**Chapter 59**

Hello friends, if you are reading this, you will notice the considerable gap in entries. For this I apologize. But life in the Sanctuary has become much more difficult in the recently months. They say bad things come in three's, well personally, I think who ever dreamt up that little proverb was full of shit. We past three with the fourth undead attack in a span of two weeks. The wandering hordes have apparently grown more desperate for nourishment that they had, at least to some degree, begun to leave the city centers and begun wandering.

We have been lucky the hordes we have encountered have been so small. We lost our friends in Jasper, the few rangers stationed at in outpost in the Rocky's to just such a group. Before the radio went dead they reported coming under siege from a number estimated at over one hundred. We thought at first they were exaggerating! Reg always used to tell the best stories...

The sheer number in a relatively secluded place seemed prosperous at the time. But then as the weeks went by the CB came alive to horde sightings, as people reported large groups moving together, following the highways, or wandering off, making their own path. The rangers station fell not long after. It was agonizing hearing their voices, ones which we had corresponded with almost daily through these near three years, and then, to hear their voices, drenched in fear and panic to simply wink out of existence, lost in static forever. It was criminal to have lasted as long as them, only to die when the thought of survival no longer seemed so far fetched. When all this is over I think a number of us will visit the station, to pay our respects in some small way.

As if the attacks weren't bad enough, but for the first season since we arrived, our crops failed, some sort of insect all but disseminated the green vegetables, though strangely leaving the potato's. If any of us were better farmers we could at least look for a kind of insecticide to ward against them, but in this case everyone was stumped. Needless to say the following months have been meager, causing us more and more raiding trips to the outside.

This in itself caused more problems, the raids have become more dangerous each time we ventured out. Finding supplies has also become more difficult, causing us to venture into more highly populated areas. We lost two of our number in the first few months of this. Cecila and her brother Johan died when his weapon misfired, leaving them defenseless facing a group of oncoming undead.

Even in their last seconds they couldn't even put themselves out of their own misery. We couldn't even locate them in the migrating crowd, to end their seemingly eternal thirst for flesh. And it breaks my heart to know, that they are out their now..one of them.

I hate to speak ill of the dead, but we figure that the tragedy occurred due to faulty gun matence. Johan was a good man, one of the funniest I knew, but the idea of cleaning and maintaining a gun was something he always seemed to neglect. It seems that some are under then impression that guns simply clean themselves.

I am sorry, but I must go again. It is my duty shift on the wall tonight. A shift that a month or so back was usually as boring as tended to the gardens (in my opinion anyway). But now is drastically important to the safety of the Sanctuary. What with the unfortunately repeated instances of the undead invading our territory. Sometimes, if it gets bad, if you don't thin them out, that next morning you have to deal with a fairly large mess of them.

So, wherever you are, who ever you are. I bid you happy hunting, and good times. Until next time friends.


	60. Chapter 60

**All standard and previously stated disclaimers apply. Please see previous chapters for ratings, warnings, and other information.**

**A/N #1:** I realize that it has been…*checks* Wow. YEARS since this has been updated. But on a whim the other day I began thinking of this story, and the fact that it remains unfinished. It seems like a terrible shame to have once put so much effort into such a story only to leave it unfinished. So, I am going to attempt to do just that. I plan on a few last chapters in which to wrap it up. Please let me know if there is any interest in me continuing with this story. I would love to hear your thoughts, support, and constructive criticism.

**A/N #2:** In addition, I wanted to thank all of you, whether you are a new or an old reader. This story was something I pretty much grew up writing. It was one of my very first stories and thus will always hold a special place in my creative process as a writer. I want to thank you for making that process memorable. And while I would tend to hope that my writing has improved since then, all your kind comments, encouragement, and constructive criticism mean much to me, and indeed, continue to do so!

**A Nightmare Walking - Chapter 60**

It is funny, in a strange and somewhat sad way to think that once, many years ago, I believed that the advent and subsequent widespread use of the computer spelled the end for such simplistic and archaic tools as the pen and paper. It occurs to me now that it is somewhat ironic that I once thought that computers were humanities future. Though after all, I doubt that there was anyone at that time who was educated in such matters that would have openly disputed it. After all, who were they to know that the end was already a mere formality?

Fate had already rolled the dice on the fortune of mankind, and the end, as it would seem, had only been a matter of time.

It is ironic because here I am, hovering over an old, weather beaten notebook, my fingers curled unfamiliarly around a standard, everyday blue ink pen, while my 'vision' of the future is languishing like an expensive, and rather overbearing paper weight at the very edge of my vision, left to moulder and collect dust in a remote, and rather dusty corner of the book shelves as it's predecessors find a use once more.

Life it seems is not without its fair share of irony..

Indeed, it seems strange to put pen to paper once more. In fact, only a few days earlier for one quite horrifying moment, I almost thought I had forgotten how! For a few, age long seconds my mind had been criminally blank, my sweaty fingers unsteady on the confining plastic, my grip precarious at best. It had been frightening to think, even if it _was_ just for a moment, that I had forgotten something so simple…so normal.

_Something that came before them._

_Them.._ Just thinking about it makes my skin crawl. You would think that I would be used to it..used to _them_ by now. I could make a list, pages upon pages long of why I never should just _used_ to them. But yet, when it all comes down to it, the unnerving truth is, is that if I was _asked why_.. If I was honestly asked why that I still look down on those creatures and feel my gut constrict, feeling the acrid tang of bile churning threateningly in my throat, I remain unsure if I could actually answer it.

I don't think I could honestly answer why. Oh I know what I _could_ say. Anyone in there right mind could list the dangers. The risk of infection, the pain of losing loved ones and friends at the hands of the undead, the end of everything we had ever know, everything we had even striven, hoped, and worked for..to name only a mere few. But it wouldn't be the truth. Well, not the _real_ truth anyway.

_Not my truth.._

Abby summed it up once, far better then I could ever hope to. It came about three years ago now, in a moment of that strange, singular wisdom that seems unique to children and the very young. She once commented, as she stood beside me, her little nose leaving smudged prints along the window pane as she pressed tightly against one of the wall length windows of the Sanctuary's control room, solemnly eyeing a small crowd of undead that had roamed far off the dilapidated highways, and eventually made their way to our gates. Saying very much out of the blue that _**"they were faces, but with no people in them."**_

Perhaps_ that_ is what bothers me, the fact that they _were_ people. That they _were_ human. That they had once lived, had once loved, and had once died. And of course, therein lay the problem. Despite the subsequent logic of the matter, they were somehow_ still_ kickin' around.

_Bastards._

Which of course opens up whole other host of philosophical problems… It is far _too easy_ to hate them. Too easy to pull the trigger in anger, and with a curse on your lips. In the beginning it was all I thought of every time I pulled that trigger. Every time I ended yet another life for the _last time_, all I could thing about was of who they had been? What they had been through? What had their last moments been like? What dreams had they held? What goals? What secrets had they kept? How many unrealized opportunities had they missed?

It was all I could think about every time I closed my eyes, that they had all_**been**__ someone, to somebody. _And I swore, in those early days, that I felt a little piece of myself die right along there with them, _every god awful time I pulled that trigger…_

It was almost as though that with them, I had also killed off a part of myself. And it scared me. It scared me down to the core, right down to the very essence of who I was…of who I had wanted to be, and of who _I could_ be.

But many things have changed over the years. And in this way, time has been quite merciless. For a long, long time, I **let** myself hate them, I_ let_ myself curse at them and take them out in anger. I _let _myself kill them with hatred and emotionless abandon. I _let_ myself because it had seemed far better then the alternative, better then letting yourself care too much. Better then feeling as though you were losing yourself in ways you couldn't ever get back.

What can I say? I wish I could say that I hadn't let myself become so utterly callous and unfeeling. I wish I could. But I can't. Perhaps you are a far better person then I, perhaps you never become this way.. But I doubt it. We all have something we are ashamed of, especially those of us that have survived. We all know that the price of surviving these times is anything but cheap.

I suppose though, what ultimately counts is that sometime ago, I regained that part of myself that I had let wither away. And with the return of that small, slightly torn, and very much dusty part of myself came back all these thoughts..all these feelings. Ones that make me threaten to tear up at a mere memory, or when I smell a familiar smell, or hear a voice that sounds impossibly familiar.. I have lost track of how many times in the past few weeks that I have let a few lone tears fall, or how many hours of sleep have been sacrificed to memories. But as pesky, and as morally troubling as they are, I wouldn't trade what I gained in exchange for _anything_ on this earth.

Besides, I think I am a better person now because of them.

If it wasn't for the attention of others, I might have let the anniversary pass by unnoticed, I find that as the years continue to pass by, I often loose track of the time. Not the month or the years mind you, but the days. I loose time because inevitably, those singular days soon grow into weeks, months, and then shockingly years.

I was surprised to realize the other day that as of this week, it has been nine years since the outbreak, nine bloody years since the beginning of the end. And so, that would make it…just around six or seven years since I have even spared a thought for this long idle account. Because as with the passage of the years, and often as it does with stories, even accounts as dire and as important as this, attentions are diverted, priorities evolve, and even more likely, people change.

So yes, it has been nine years now. Nine long years since the outbreak that crippled mankind, nine years since everyone's world changed. Nine years since we all became orphans and refugees on our own world.

For some, that day ended almost as soon as it had started, in a growing haze of red, admist a cacophony of screams and shouts of almost virginal innocence and confusion. Believe it or not, we consider them to be the lucky ones sometimes, because for them, for better or for worse, it was all over. For the rest, for us…our lives can only be summed up by a tally of the days.

I lost almost everyone I had ever loved that day. But then again, self serving pretentiousness aside, so has everyone else that has lived to see this grim anniversary.

_We are all orphans from the same broken family._

But I have not returned to this account to tell you about that day. If you are reading this you already know your own version of that day all too well, whenever it may have come for you. And certainly, you don't need any more maudlin sonnets or my slightly narcissistic musings on the matter.

But what I have returned to write _**is**_ something that I believe is worth saying. It is not the beginning of an end, and nor is it the continuation of my self serving reflections of life out here in the sticks, of surviving. But rather, I would have this account, or should I say, the renewal of this account, to read as the _beginning of a beginning.._

..As the chronicles of a _**new**_start.

It is the beginning of something unknown, of something terrifying, yet at the same time exhilarating. It is the beginning of something that might just_** dare**_ to be something good. And god..the words have never flowed sweeter..

**A/N:** Let me know if there is an interest for me to continue. I realize that it HAS been a really long time, so I am just getting a feel for things right now. Hope to hear from you guys soon!


	61. Chapter 61

**All standard and previously stated disclaimers apply. Please see previous chapters for ratings, warnings, and other information.**

**A/N #1:** I realize that it has been…*checks* Wow…YEARS since this has been updated. But on a whim the other day I began thinking of this story, and the fact that it remains unfinished. It seems like a terrible shame to have once put so much effort into such a story only to leave it unfinished. So, I am going to attempt to do just that. I plan on a few last chapters in which to wrap it up. Please let me know if there is any interest in me continuing with this story. I would love to hear your thoughts, support, and constructive criticism.

**A/N #2:** Special thanks to my two reviewers of the new chapter and to those who have pm'ed me. I am glad you liked the new chapter and are interested! Your constructive criticism and observations were most helpful! (And Nina: Just for you I will try my best to think of what to do about DJ Steve!)

**A Nightmare Walking - Chapter 61**

The years that have past since I last put pen to paper have been some of the worst of my life, I can't quite believe I am saying it, but for me at least, they rival the merciless ferocity of the early years, the ones just after the outbreak. Back when the emotional wounds were far too raw, with most still seeping through the all too thin façades of strength and determination. Like a mask in which you can hide behind, until you realize that you have been stripped to the core, shucked of the very essence of who and what you are, left with nothing else to do but to live life from one moment to the next, hoping against all reason that they might be so lucky to live to see another sunrise.

But unlike those early years, these past ones have not been bad due to the reasons you might expect. And in that way, somehow, it makes the reality of the matter that much harder to accept.

..It's ironic how, in the depths of my self reflection and grief stricken weakness, that I remember pondering that death at the hands of the undead almost seemed preferable to the torment of living without _them_. _At the time, I know, I would have given my life for a second chance_.._ For them…_

In my last old entry, the one that marked the beginning of the years long neglect for this account, I briefly alluded to the Sanctuary having entered upon a period of hardship. Our crops had failed, we had seen more undead activity then normal, and worse, we had lost a number of good people. However, despite this, soon after those deaths it seemed as though our fortunes were changing.. The fall crops bloomed in such abundance that we had to dig out and construct a fourth underground cellar to store and preserve the food for the winter months. The undead hordes became less and less, until it was not unusual to go for a score or more days without so much as catching their foul scent lingering on the breeze. And on top of that, we welcomed two new additions to the Sanctuary during the fall and winter of that year, which together made them the seventh and eighth successful births since we established ourselves here. And from the very start, I have never seen such lively, healthy babies! Indeed both Karen and Julian sport such a solid set of brass lungs between them that they could rival any brass band!

And yet, despite the prosperity, despite how from this period on, the world seemed to turn just that much easier.. It seemed as though the turn in our fortunes had a vicious and very personal price..

At the beginning of the New Year, all but five months since our change of fortune, the acrid tang of expelled shot, and the salty scent of tears invaded my life once again. When we lost Rachel, on that particularly foul day in January, I had refused to accept what Kirren had told me. I had pushed past him, slapping away his protective, comforting hands, yelling something I don't entirely remember as I all but fell down the stairs and ran all the way outside.

I pushed through the door and out into the wind with nothing but a jumper over my pyjamas and a pair of running shoes on my bare feet, but despite this I was mindless of the deep winter snow, ignoring the way it seemed to cling to my sleep clothes and soak right through to the skin as the deepness of the drifts hampered my pace. The team she had been with was there, waiting by the hatch of the truck, one even tried to speak, but the look on my face seemed to make the team leader, a mousy haired Marine that had made her way up to us all the way from Washington State during the middle of our second year, think better of it.

They parted to the side like one of those old fashioned theatre curtains, revealing the one thing in my life that I was all too intimately familiar with, and yet, on this night, could barely stand to see.

_Not her._

I had tried to save her from this. From the very beginning I had shunted shifts aside, reworked rotations, _anything_ just to be out_ with_ her if she was leaving the safety of the Sanctuary. Once, years ago, before the Sanctuary was anything more then a barely finished building that still smelled of industrial paint and old saw dust, back when only five voices echoed through its hallways and empty rooms, she had accused me of trying to protect her. And she had been right. Only this time..this time I hadn't been there. I hadn't been there for _her._

The body bag seemed abnormally small, folded and tucked under at one end in order to make a neater fit into the supply laden truck bed. It was perverse, and offensive, and I had to clench my fists together in order to force myself not to wind up and punch that stupid, emotionless face of the woman standing stiff, and uncomfortable only a few steps away from me.

_It had been her responsibility to keep her safe godamnit!_

Vaguely, somewhere off in the background I remember hearing Thor and Kirren's voices telling the others to leave us, their voices oddly muffled by the thick white flakes that still fell. And after a long, painful moment, we were left with only the silence.

_And as I stood there, together with a black body bag that had no right being there in the first place, a snow storm that I had somewhat looked forward to with what remained of my childish enthusiasm and playfulness, now seemed oppressive and painfully ominous._

I reached for the zipper of that bag well over a dozen times, but my fingers never made it past brushing the surface of that frozen metal tab. _I couldn't look._ _I couldn't bring myself to look._

_Weak…Afraid...Coward…_

Instead, I felt around, my hands skimming the outline of that small little figure until I my fingers recognized the shape of a hand, and with all I possessed, I pressed my own against it, nearly losing it when I felt the outline of her rings bite into my skin despite the thick, rubbery material.

But like so many other times in my life, like the massive, overbearing bear that he was, it was Thor that saved me. He moved forward from behind, his massive tread creating a small highway through the deepening snow behind him. He didn't say a word, and later I would bless him for it. Because if he had said just one word…one name…_anything_ I would have been entirely unmanned in front of what I knew was close to the entire population of the compound watching from the windows…they knew what her death meant.. And somehow, in spite of all else that I had lost, It seemed that I still had a smidgen of my pride.

Instead of speaking Thor scooped me up and into his side, one large palm spanning across the entirety of my back as I turned into him willingly, letting him do what I could not. _Letting him be strong for me, yet again._

And it was only when I had turned my face into the warmth of his long, puffed up winter parka, letting the familiarity of its scent fill my nostrils, that I heard the zipper of the bag slowly open.

I shuddered against him when I felt his entire body stiffen, the unmistakable sound of the zipper coming to an abrupt and quite terrifying halt, with the sudden tension that was all but reverberating through his body making me bare my teeth into the darkness. As if I could make reality submit into obscurity by sheer desperation and willpower alone.

For us this was personal. More then anything else, _this_ was different from the others. It shouldn't have been. Her death shouldn't have been anymore meaningful then the scores of others that we have all had to bare. But it wasn't. And we would have been lying through our teeth if we said it was. For Thor and I, this was family. And if Dave had been still alive, and Joe not out of his own supply mission I know they would have said the same.

_To us…it was more._ _We had all begun this journey together, from the very beginning we had fought our way to this life, shedding our fair share of blood, sweat, and tears together. Always together._

_And now Rachel was gone. _

After a long, unsteady silence I fought to regain myself. Sucking in deep, painful breaths I found I was almost grateful for the frigid burn of the air as I forced it down my windpipe, it gave me something else to focus on then what was lying in front of me. But when I finally made to turn around, not wanting Thor to have to face this alone, the weight of his hand fell back firmly on my shoulder, making me pause as I felt more then saw the mans beard shake back and forth over the top of my head in warning.

_And for once I actually listened._

I waited until the zipper had closed before I turned forward again. And once again I was confronted with the reality that my eyes had been shielded from before, when they had been pressed tightly against the softness of Thor's jacket. _Safe._ But the true reality, the reality of _our lives_ was staring me right in the face. A friend, my best friend and a member of our family, _gone._

And as I moved a step forward toward the truck hatch, I was all too keenly aware of two things, first the warmth and support of Thor at my back, and second, the barely audible scrape of Kirren's boot heels as they skidded across the foot packed snow. Like Thor he had never said a word, and yet the sound of tread scuffing across the snow sounded deliberately loud to my ears, as though he were in some way trying to remind me of his presence.

_And at the time, despite everything else, I had recalled how strange that thought had been.._

I breathed in a long, deep breath of the winter chilled air. _It was time._ With effort I bent down, hoisting her weight as I gently collected the stiff bag in my hands, hyper aware of Thor hovering beside me, his hand still resting reassuringly on my shoulder as I adjusted my hold on the thick unyielding plastic, reminding me that I was not alone.

And as we turned away, angling back towards the bright lights of the Sanctuary's northern most building, Kirren stood by to let us pass. He was standing just off to the side, having been there the whole time, like a silent, unmoveable shadow flitting in our wake. And as our eyes met, he inclined his head to me, the movement causing his thick auburn hair, damp and slicked to his scalp with melting snow to fall into his vision, so that he was looking up at me through the fan of his long lashes and strikingly coloured hair.

In every sense of the word he was the same as he always was, steadfast, deadly, deep and ever as unattainable. But this time, his dark, polar grey eyes were heavy with a mixture of emotion. There was sadness, regret, and acceptance…the usual emotions for such a time…But yet, together with these emotions his gaze was clouded with something else. Something that at the time I couldn't at recognize.

It wasn't until a many years later that I came to realize that the look on Kirren's face that night had been that of jealously.

I buried Rachel myself in the small corner of the memorial yard that seems to have become reserved for _us_, the first few founders of the Sanctuary. I was never told who had made the mercy shot. All I know is that in her case the shot had been aptly named. And despite the reality of the situation, as I stood stark and alone admist in the mud churned snow of the graveyard, the only one still braving the beginnings of the seasons first harsh winter storm, I found that I was not at all comforted to know that not one of _them_ had been allowed to lay a hand on her.

I buried her beside Dave, who had past only a year before. From what, we weren't exactly sure. It had been a bad year for a number of reportorial illnesses. But he had died warm, and surrounded by his friends and people that had loved him. And now, somehow it seemed all too appropriate that they would rest side by side. Perhaps he would be able to help her in the next life. _If there was such a place.._

And in the shadows of the main building's eaves, when I had finally let myself cry out my grief, letting the winter squall tear the cries from my throat, flinging words and inarticulate noises until they were lost admist the roar of the storm, I knew that Kirren was watching.

_After all, it's hard to escape the truth.. But it is even harder to escape fate._

**A/N:** Let me know how I am doing! I am still shaky on resuming this story after so long an absence, and am definitely trying to regain my feel for it thus far. So, comments and constructive criticism is cherished and prettily decorated with a zombie shaped cherry on top!


	62. Chapter 62

**All standard and previously stated disclaimers apply. Please see previous chapters for ratings, warnings, and other information.**

**A/N #1:** Sorry this chapter is a day or so later then the others. I found myself with a string of days off and pretty much went feral canoeing and swimming at the lake this weekend. And to top it off, when I went to finish off this story at the beginning of the day on Sunday, I spent the majority of the day puttering around with it, splitting it in half and then actually _adding_ more to it. My muse is a terrible task master I tell you. Hope you enjoy! I look forever to reading your comments and constructive criticism!

**A Nightmare Walking - Chapter 62**

I used to be a strong believer in the fact that we are never given more then we can handle. And perhaps if I really make myself think about it, despite everything, I suppose I still am. It is a phrase I remember my mother often saying as I grew up. It is just the kind of parental wisdom that no self respecting, surly, off-putting teenager would ever admit to having listened to in the first place, but at the same time, far from the earshot of their parents, it is advice that is coveted and often repeated.

But throughout these past, trying years, for me, that belief has been sorely tested. Sometimes, on more then one occasion, I admit to having even dismissed it as false. There were some days where I just couldn't believe that life could possibility get worse, or that I was made to handle such times..such turmoil and death. I suppose that during those times, for me, it might as well have been the end of the world…_all over again._

We had lost Dave a year previous to Rachel. And hell, it was not half a year after that that I had woken up to the first morning in over thirteen years to total and absolute silence, the one morning where that little black and white Boston, so full of spirit, personality, and out right gumption did not rise with me.

Abby had been heartbroken, I had just been numb. I had thought I had been prepared for it. But in truth, nothing had prepared for me waking up to the silence. There had been no sleepy snorts, or snuffling doggy snores, no wet, insistent nose prodding under the covers and across the bed for her breakfast and restful attention. No jingling collar.. no _nothing._

It felt as though I had lost a close friend all over again. And in a sense, I suppose I had. Tia had been with me since the beginning, since before the outbreak, and she had been my first companion through out it. _Even before Dan. _She had been old, very old. And I had known this day was coming. But knowing that didn't make accepting the reality of it any easier. I know she was just a dog..but to me, she had been a member of my family. Like Dave, and like Rachel, she had been one of the few things that I had been able to hold on to from the days _before_ our world ended.

_Something good._

I want to get one thing clear, and entirely certain before I continue on any further with this account. While I am not entirely proud or comfortable with my actions, and indeed reactions to the events throughout these past few difficult years I certainly do not regret them. How can I? To put it quite simply,_ they are me. _

Your emotions, and the subsequent actions and reactions that occur in your life because of them are as much a part of you as your arm is attached to your shoulder, or your ankle to your calf.

You cannot regret who you are; but you _can_ work with what you have. And throughout my life this is something that I have always striven for.

I make no excuses for myself, and desire no sympathy from you. How can I given how it all worked out in the end? But what I do implore is for your understanding. Like me, you know what it is like to live in these often sad and uncertain times. You know what it means to truly have nothing in every sense of the word. You know the value of trusting few with much, and you understand the need to keep your emotions close, _safe _from those whether they might mean to or not, destroy what ever sembalance of strength and balance you still have. You also know what it means to be alone just as much as you now know the true and unquestionable value of close friends and family.

Perhaps like me, you know what it means to live a life like mine…

In some ways I haven't changed much since the outbreak. Perhaps I am a little more pessimistic, a little less naïve. But that is to be expected I suppose. After all it is hard to remain ever upbeat and good humoured when the threat of getting eaten alive, or worse continually looms in the horizon, hovering above your head, and lingering at the edge of all your conscious thoughts like the worlds biggest kill joy.

Even before the outbreak I was a private person that enjoyed the company of others just as much as I did the pleasure of enjoying my own solitude and personal space. I suppose you could say that for the most part I was as confident and self assured as a young adult could be in a world where more mature, and seasoned adults dominated the playing field and held all the cards.

And like many others I had big dreams. I was just coming to my own and the world seemed to be waiting for me just around the next cornor..at the time, the possibilities had seemed as endless as the future had seemed bright. And I had been determined to make my mark. I had wanted to teach, eventually become a doctorate holder and teach at the university level. I had wanted a career well in hand before I settled down. Even then the challenge of settling down and finding a decent man to start a family with had seemed as alien and as impossible as the world in which we now live. I suppose..before the outbreak, like the majority of young adults my age, I had been entirely self absorbed, certainly not ready for the responsibilities of a spouse, or even a few children of my own. In my mind, having myself to worry about was responsibility enough.

Ironically, before the outbreak I never held the responsibilities that I do now. I never had the weight of hundreds of lives of my shoulders. I never had to decide who lived, and who sometimes died. I had never known what it was truly like to make a decision for the betterment of the group, and not the individual.

_God..I had had not idea._

And now, as often as I am expected to be strong, to lead others and save lives in spite of all the odds, secretly I feel as equally as uncertain and riddled with self doubt. This is just one of the many reasons why my status within the Sanctuary has never really sat well with me. I do not see myself as a hero. _Really I don't._ I think of myself as a woman who has been ridiculously lucky, and very much blessed. I will not deny that I have considerable skills, leadership, combat, and diplomacy to name only a few. But generally, I see myself as little different from the rest of our haven's population, the fact that I initially helped find and create the Sanctuary not withstanding.

What happened to make me take up this account once again is largely a complete secret, discussed only by the Council and those directly involved, so naturally, in a community the size of ours, **everyone** knows. _It's almost like being in high school again. The rumour mill in this place is positively omnipotent. _

But reputations are strange things. And apparently mine, for better or for worse was made to weather through more hardship and strain that I have yet wreaked, as it has suffered little for my tantrums and theatrics in the past year.

I suppose, if I were forced to sum up the heart of myself in only a few sentences, I might say that I am not half as strong as I wish I was. But sometimes, I think I may be just strong enough.

It wasn't until last year that it happened, the eighth since the outbreak and the fifth or sixth since I had spared even a passing thought for this account. As it was I had to rescue the large leather bound notebook I had written it all down in from where it had been languishing, caked in dust and half lost under a pile of old paper backs and an odd assortment of knick-knack-like clutter.

It was the time of year that, according to the last calendars ever printed..was not yet officially considered summer, but the heat, and the intensity of it made you think that the season had come early, and that summer was only masquerading as one of the final days of spring. But really..who knows anyway? The latest calendar we have is coming on six years old by now.

_Who would have ever known that we could have taken something as simple and as unassuming as a calendar for granted?_

It was the kind of day that had you caught in between not quite beginning to dread the stifling, pressing heat of the coming summer, and enjoying the midday sunshine, the clouds only light, puffy wisps in the distance. Because your mind is still caught up in remembering the dead cold of the last winter, on the days were the generators didn't run, electricity was being rationed, or when the gasoline ran out, days when you wore three sweaters under your winter jacket and swore on gods name that you would never be truly warm ever again. So for now, it was the kind of day that just made you grateful.

_Grateful for the warmth, grateful for the heat, and grateful for being alive to enjoy it._

The entire compound seemed to be caught up in the warm, mellow atmosphere of the day. There were no teams out, and everyone seemed to be sticking close to home, just enjoying the first real summer day of the year. The children were out in the courtyard, playing games that came entirely out of their own imaginations, and chasing each other around at breakneck speeds that had their mothers clucking nervously and their fathers chuckling in the background, sneaking in the odd surprise kiss or two before their respective spouses even had the chance to get indignant about it.

Even those that were actually on active guard duty around the fenced in compound were standing slumped across the roof railings, looking slightly wilted in the hazy, warm glare as they threw dice or played the odd game of cards, our territory clear as far as the eye could see of anything other then the most perfect summers day.

Even I remember how on that morning I woke up later then usual, lulled back to sleep by the pervasive summer heat that made me heavy and drowsy in such a way that after exerting the effort to slap the alarm off on my watch, slowed by befuddled, tired fingers, that the mere thought of actually getting up and doing anything else seemed all but impossible.

In fact I only dragged myself out of bed when Abby all by bounced in, her long light brown pony tail swinging from side to side like a pendulum, a bowl of steaming oatmeal gript tight in her little painted fingers. She had been shooed out from her own room early that morning, with her parents apparently having a bit of a lie in as well.

We demolished the bowl together, and as I got up, getting ready for the day, she spent her time poking and prodding around my room like the curious, growing girl that she was, alert and ever eager to discover the secrets that came with becoming a 'big girl'.

_Which apparently included delving into my wardrobe and rooting through my cosmetic box. Typical._

Abby tagged along as I left my rooms, chattering on easily as we made our way through the waking throngs of people in the hallways, weaving too and fro around our neighbours as we made our way to the mess hall, my nose leading me right to the coffee carafe for my first cup of the day, listening with interest as Abby told me all about her school class yesterday. A program we had thought up about four years ago, when we fully realized the implications of what we were doing.

Without realizing it we had begun to raise a generation of ignorance. Raising children who had no idea what a textbook was for, or how to do long division, or even the history of the country in which they lived. We soon came to realize that_ just_ surviving was no longer enough. We had to give what we could.. _all_ that we could to those that would follow us…our children, _those that would carry on and determine the fate of our species._

It is funny to think that education, even something as simple grade school education is something that we would come realize we had taken for granted.

It is things like that that makes me wonder how many of us would have lived different, done different if we had known. If we had known that our time was slipping by like the sand streaming through an hour glass, _limited and almost up.._ How many parents would have come home early from work for their children? How many lovers would have found time for just a few more moments in bed, curled up next to the one they loved even if it was just for nothing more then to watch them sleep?

_How many would have chanced it all? Done it all if only they had known that they had no more time to wonder, no more time to aimlessly hope for what could be. And instead, go seize it, chance it, just for that reason that soon there would be nothing left to loose._

We all have regrets about our last few days. We all have things we wish we would have said…wish we would have done. Its human nature of have them. It is human nature to ask yourself: "What if?"

I know that I would have said "I love you" much more freely, and fought just that much less with my family over the silly, inconsequential things. I would have stopped and talked to every single person I might have met on the streets, careless and open to any stranger just for the opportunity to speak with another human being. I would have walked out side with my eyes closed, safe and blissful, enjoying the freedom that comes with not having to worry about what..or even who might be close to you, baring down on you, teeth gnashing and veraciously like a wild animal closing in for the attack.

We had gotten as far as the inner gardens, wandering around rather aimlessly as we discussed her adding and subtracting homework, quizzing each other into reciting the names of each of the territories and provinces, when Ryder skidded to a halt beside us, the sudden nature of his stop kicking up a thin layer of dirt that speckled across our pant legs, causing Abby to squeal in girlish indignation as her old, faded pink dress took the brunt of it.

Amused I only grinned, watching as the boy all but bounced in place, entirely ignoring Abby's high pitched complaints as she coolly flicked the dirt off her dress, causing the boy to dodge this way and that to avoid the few well aimed dirt clods that whizzed by, barely missing the top of his sandy haired head.

If anything I only grinned wider as I watched their antics. _It never failed to make me smile when children were able to act like children again. _

He had only just finished telling me that Kirren and Thor had sent him to tell me that they were out in the logging clearing when seemingly right on cue, a loud thunk, and the sound of a screaming wood and bark echoed deafeningly through the still summer air, with a laughing, belated call of "Timber!" following swiftly in its wake.

"They let you got by yourself?" I asked with a frown, automatically raising my head and squinting into the distance, as if I could actually determine the direction in with the chopping noise was coming from.

He fixed me with a look that clearly indicated he thought I was a few cans short of six pack before shaking his shaggy head, his dirty blond hair flopping this way and that with the movement. "No. Mr. Kirren walked back halfway with me, and then watched me until I got back to the gates." He replied, scuffing a growingly bored sneaker into the thick, rich smelling sod.

My attitude warmed immediately, that was just like Kirren, practical yet careful. Under that careful, quiet, steel like demeanour was a heart of absolute gold. And no personal repression or military training in the world could erase that, not something so genuine. People were drawn to it, drawn to that kind of strength…myself included.

Now that Ryder had brought it up, I seemed to remember the man having mentioned it the night before, though it wasn't overly surprising that I neglected to remember it at all…given the circumstances.

I had only just gotten out of the shower, exiting the bathroom at the head of a thick plume of foggy, condensation saturated air as I tied my thin, purple housecoat closed. I remember how in those first few moments, moments _before_ I knew I was being watched, how unselfconscious my movements were, how I unrestrainedly shook out my sodden curls with one hand as I walked, humming blithely as I flung my towel unconcernedly backwards, entirely ignoring the sodden smack of wet cotton slapping against porcelain behind me just before the sound of a distinctly male voice clearing their throat stopped me in my tracks.

Whirling in place I didn't even have a moment to open my mouth before I felt a strange sort of blush flush heat through my cheeks, moving down past my neck until it felt as though my entire body had been plunged head first into a stifling, overly warm sauna.

Mind and body left scrambling I remember how my fingers unconsciously arrowed downwards, hovering self-consciously over the waist tie, fingers suddenly clumsy and unwieldy as they tightened reflectively over the already securely tied knot.

Because leaning against the door frame in that sprawling, loose limbed sort of way that did strange things to my insides, was Kirren. All six, damnable handsome feet of him.. Right down to his combat boots and the long, deceptively powerful fingers that were currently knuckling uncomfortably through his short, auburn coloured hair.

Except this was strange. _Different._ **He** was different. It took me almost a full minute to realize that it **wasn't** just the fact that for one of the first times in the eight years that I had known the man, that he was wearing something_ other_ then his BDU's, tact vest, and combat gear. Instead, he was wearing a faded, worn out pair of silver-blue denim jeans and a snug, forest green t-shirt that somehow only intensified the icy grey of his eyes. (Though if he wasn't wearing at least his ankle holster underneath those criminally 'snug in all the right places' jeans I would give my berretta a full on steel barrel blow job). And it wasn't even that I could actually _smell_ the fresh, naturally masculine scent of him from clear across the room, his hair still sheened with moisture from his own resent shower. Or how the skin around his cheeks and chin was just the tiniest bit flushed, sensitive and freshly shaven, with everything about his person somehow looking meticulous, thought out…and…_**jesus**_.._deliberate?_

_But in spite of all that, that wasn't it..because underneath that, underneath what I __**could **__see there was something else, something __**more**__. _

It was something that was showing on his face, something that made him seem almost naked…_open_… and yet strangely all the more guarded and inscrutable. It was something that I had never before noticed about him. An expression, a feeling.. something just out of my reach, something I was so close to finally understanding that it drove me absolutely mental with not knowing.

And with a strange little shiver, my toes curled into soles of my feet, my body suddenly hyper aware of the breeze swirling around my naked legs, and the way my short, cotton housecoat clung to my body in just such a way that made it all too evident that I wore not a stitch underneath.

Cursing myself silently, and hoping to god that he didn't notice the blush that had undoubtedly stained the entirety of my cheeks, I forced myself to get a grip, unable to understand why all of a sudden my hands wouldn't stay still, or why there was this unexplainable tremor coursing up my knees, or even more strangely, why a man I had know for almost eight years could reduce me to a voiceless idiot without even so much as having opened his mouth.

"It was open." He said somewhat sheepishly, as if by way of greeting, his voice seeming strangely deep as he cleared it again. The action making me half wonder if he might have been coming down with something, even as he gestured needlessly towards the door that stood half flung open between us, standing out like a barrier, like no mans land. _Like a line that neither of us could yet bring ourselves to cross._

But for some reason it didn't actually make me feel any better to realize that the man was acting just as strangely as I. In fact, it made me feel worse, ill at ease even. The man seemed out of his element…I couldn't explain it. Perhaps there _really was_ a flu going around..

Desperate to do something I shook the drying curls out from my face, almost flinching as the man strangely tensed against the doorway, his lips going thin and stock straight, reacting more as if I had slapped him rather then done something as mundane as flick away my hair.

I was just about to open my mouth, my tongue darting out to moisten my suddenly desert dry lips when he spoke over me, his words uncommonly fast and abundant for the very deliberate and often soft spoken man.

"Listen, I just came by…Well what I mean is…" He began roughly, his tone hardening as words seemed to fail him. In any other circumstances..with any other person, this situation might have even been funny..But if anything the man's difficulty caused an ache to start in my chest, and for reasons beyond me, for my blush to only intensify.

But the Kirren I knew soon reasserted himself, shaking his head subtly before sending me an easy half smile that was so casual after everything that had just happened that I knew it had to be fake.

"Last time we were out I saw this, and picked it up for you." He said with a small half aborted movement that took him one step from the doorframe and into my room, the hand that had been folded up behind his back from the beginning suddenly appearing into view, his hand firm around a slightly beaten up, but colourful bottle.

I just blinked, absolutely blind sided.

Body wash. The man had brought me.._**body wash**_? Unable to stop myself I leaned forward, squinting at the faded label, my lower lip caught firmly between my teeth as I silently mouthed out the words.

'Lavender and mint scented body wash'. _Wait. _How did he even know? _Jesus. _Those were my two favourite scents..

Speechless I could only look up at him, all barriers suddenly gone and replaced with something akin to wonder and astonishment. He took another few steps into the room; just close enough to hand it to me before retreating back to the safety of door frame. But nothing could diminish the unabashed pleasure that thrummed through me, sending a smile careening across my lips like a car crash even as I murmured a garbled, and barely understandable 'thank you'.

I didn't know he even _knew_…

Even with the weight of it resting in my palm my gaze kept darting up from the priceless bottle, over to his face, and then back again. I could hardly believe it. Treasures such as these are rare at the Sanctuary. Things like makeup, scented shampoos, perfumes, colognes, body washes, and other assorted pleasure items are not considered to be priority items of any sort, and thus the risk involved in picking up such things was understandably not warranted.

That meant, that somehow, during a supply trip..raid, or god only knows when, Kirren had made a very deliberate, and personal decision..(_not to mention risk)_ to having not only snagged such an item, but even more unbelievably had taken the time to select the particular one that had included my two favourite scents.

_I was floored, pleased beyond measure, confused, and totally lost with it._

Entirely forgetting myself, I all but bounced with pleasure, flipping open the lid I took a generous sniff, almost coughing as the strong scent of the flowery herb and the cool scent of tangy mint assaulted my nostrils, making me all but drunk, my senses left floating in the powerful sway of such a priceless gift.

Our eyes met from across the room, and suddenly I was breathless with the sheer power of the moment. His smile, after having been watching me the entire time was wide and desperately open, lilted up farther in the right corner then the left in a way that should have been odd, but to me looked like the god damn sunrise.

It kind of felt like we were both standing on a previously steady, but now deteriorating foundation, with the floor beneath our feet once so stable, so secure, and so _known_ now crumbling and swaying beneath us, leaving us both unsure of where to place our next step.

It was him that finally broke the silence, clearing that damn throat of his again and murmuring some platitude that I don't think I actually fully heard in the first place in response to my throaty thanks, unconsciously taking a minute step backwards from the door frame as the sound of people talking down the hall filtered in from the background.

"Gin rummy?" I said hopefully, brushing my now springy, half dried curls away from my face as I held up a pack of cards, suggesting his favourite game even as I tried my best to keep the anticipation and tightness that was firming in my throat from showing in my voice, realizing even as I offered, what I was actually doing.

I was doing _anything_ just to get him to stay. I mean..I _hate_ Gin Rummy.

But he only coughed. It was a fake, forced sound that actually made me more confused then when his eyes began darting from me to the window and back again, as if plotting an alternative escape route if I were to, for some insane reason jump him in mid conversation.

"Poker?" I tried again, gently waving the cards back and forth in the air by my bed, as though I were actually dealing with some sort of combustible chemical or skittish mutt rather then a fully grown man and an ex-marine to boot.

And just when I was about to ruin it all and ask what in _gods name_ was wrong with him, _or rather us,_ quite abruptly, and altogether anti-climatically, the man fled, slinking back out the doorway with that same sort of absurd grace that had made me envious since the very first moment that I had met him, muttering something about keeping Thor company during guard duty before I could even so much as bid him goodnight.

_I could have punched something I was so god damn confused!_

And that was _just_ like him, every bloody time I thought I had the damnable man figured out, he went and pulled something like that. Leaving me confused and thinking things I knew I had no business thinking.

And for a long time that evening I simply sat on my bed, turning that gorgeous, heavenly smelling bottle over and over in my hands, torturing myself by been entirely unable to stop myself from thinking thoughts that I _knew _would only cause me grief in the end.

_Human nature is kind of a bitch like that.._

I was broken from my musings quite abruptly however when the echoing, metallic thud of sharp metal meeting wood met my ears again. However I was startled more then anything by the bout of laugher that followed the noise, lingering in the echoes until it resounded like the steady beat of my pulse in my ears. And I found myself utterly unable to stop the dusty and almost unrecognizable twinges of jealousy from spiking in my chest as I recognized Kirren's lilting, accented laugher mixed together with Thor's thick, deep booming guffaws. Kirren laughed so sparingly, so rarely, that for me at least, it was a treat to hear, even just to be there as his face transformed into that open, genuine smile that took over his eyes with humour, happiness, and unabashed mirth.

_It had become, without me quite realising it, a secret pleasure of mine._

"Can we go now?" Ryder asked finally, standing directly in front of me now and fidgeting earnestly, obviously eager to get back to the others. Apparently men doing manly, sweaty, and very likely smelly things was entirely enthralling to a young sprite of a kid barely out of that chubby cheeked cherubic stage.

'_Men. Ever the mystery_.' I remembered thinking with a snort, pulling myself from the confusing, and rather dangerous depths of my own thoughts, as I nodded and agreed, sending the two of them bolting off to the mess to grab water bottles and snacks for the lot of us as I headed back up to my room to grab my gear.

Perhaps if I had known then what I know now, maybe I wouldn't have taken the stairs two at a time…maybe I would have slowed my steps, savouring those last few moments where my mind and heart could rest, complacent and mercilessly oblivious.

But time is not something that halts..stops..or even _slows_ for people such as me. It understands no concepts of mercy nor regard for what is to come. It does not stop, or rest, or worry about tomorrow. _It does not love._

Because now, I can see it as I look back. The moment was all but upon me. Looming, rushing, and growing into this malleable, malicious mass of grief, anger, loss, and pain.

_It was unstoppable, unthinkable, unchangeable, and utterly life altering. And it was only getting closer.._


	63. Chapter 63

**All standard and previously stated disclaimers apply. Please see previous chapters for ratings, warnings, and other information.**

**A/N #1:** I want to thank all my readers, reviewers, and pm senders! You guys are absolutely golden!

**A/N #2:** Credit for my choice of weapon in this chapter goes out to **SubVetTonyP** who rather graciously pointed out to me that as much as I might LIKE using a shotgun; sometimes it is just not practical, or (ahem) useful. Apparently my total cluelessness regarding weapons has been discovered. I will just be here in my corner. Carry on!

**A Nightmare Walking - Chapter 63**

I had swung back up to my rooms, clipping on my gun belt and double checking my cartridges before I met up with the children. Unconsciously I snapped my .22LR Varmint into the left holster without a second thought. Knowing without having to dwell on it that just because undead activity had become increasingly sparse as of late, that didn't necessarily mean that one _wasn't_ going to come chomp you in the ass the moment you got complacent.

_Because, that's face it, the way the world has been going for the past eight years, I am certainly not going to rule__** anything**__._

In fact, if I was being totally honest with myself, while I _had_ been enjoying the reprieve over the past few months, I was damn near creeped out by it as well. And now, like a depressed adrenaline junkie hanging off a cliff edge just to get their fix, I was perpetually on edge, just waiting for the next god damn catastrophe or semi disaster to come barrelling out of no where and blind side us.

Things were far too quiet. And it was honestly beginning to freak me out.

I remember the weirdest things about that day, like how freely the three of us walked down through the main gates, the kids laden down with drinks and snacks for our two would-be woodsmen, as we set off at a leisurely clip towards the small, forest clearing we had gradually chopped down and created throughout the years, with this one being primarily used for chopping fire wood or constructing building supplies.

It wasn't long after that that I found myself leaning up against a roughly cut maple stump. Breathing in the smell of freshly cut wood as liberally as my senses would allow as I attempted and probably entirely_ failed_ at looking casual, feigning a deeply engrossed interest in the wooded hollow around us, when actually, all I was_ really_ doing was watching the play of muscles bunch and release across Kirren's broad shoulders.

_It was better then watching a movie.._

And even then, looking back on it now, I can't deny that a flush of heat that had nothing to do with the summer temperature tinged my cheeks as I watched how his arms worked, his tempo sedate, but deliberate as he swung his axe down again and again across the large downed maple trunk, with the effort of each swing causing a quiet grunt of air to leave his throat. It was almost like clockwork.

I had just looked down, stealthily evading Kirren's gaze as he slowed and looked up towards me, as if sensing he was being observed, when out of the corner of my eye I noticed it.

Tearing my eyes away reluctantly, I gave Thor a quick once over. The man was_ still_ doing it, paused in the act of swinging as he rubbed one of his large fists in a brisk circular motion over the center of his chest, his brow furrowed slightly as he continued the movement.

"You okay?" I questioned, slightly nonplussed but more curious then concerned as he met my gaze, his bright eyes strangely dark and clouded for a brief moment before he cracked a small smile back at me. His expression was heavy, but still good humoured enough for me to chalk the sudden trickle of adrenaline now warming my veins up to me being paranoid again.

"Fine. Must'a slept on it wrong or somemat'." He commented lightly, his brow still furrowed as he waved me off, taking a long, gulping swig from the water bottle at his feet before he bent down to retrieve his axe, setting back to work on the downed maple.

His explanation had made perfect sense so I let it go, letting my gaze drift slowly back towards Kirren. Watching appreciatively through the relative obscurity of my sunglasses as his attention returned fully to the task as hand, the hot summer sun having already sheened his lightly tanned torso in a thin film of healthy sweat that would have had _any_ red blooded woman ogling if given even half the chance.

_It was unavoidable really.. The man was just..so..__**there**__…and all…half naked…_Could I really be blamed if… _once and a while_ my gaze just _happened_ to …drift?

And yeah, and so long as I following in the habit of deluding myself I also want a billion dollars, and the world back the way it was _supposed_ to be.. You know, minus the insane, flesh eating dead people.

Throughout the next hour I divided my attention in between keeping a eye on Abby and Ryder who were playing busily in the growing pile of woodchips and broken branches at my feet, and talking to offhandedly to Kirren and Thor as they worked, thoroughly enjoying the luxury of just being lazy for once.

I didn't have a shift on the wall until the evening so I didn't feel the least bit guilty as I watched the two men work. Idly thinking as I let my body melt further into the raw wood as I thought about how boring the upcoming shift was actually going to be. We hadn't seen head or tails of even _one_ stiff for close to four weeks.

I remember how the summer sun made me feel almost pliant, and lethargic in all the right ways, warming the metal barrel of my sidearm until it was almost uncomfortably warm in the holster at my side, the heat making me yawn in spite of myself.

By this time Kirren and I had launched into one of our old, longstanding debates bout the practicality and benefits of expanding our territories farther south. I was of the opinion that such an expansion was a risk we would eventually need to take regardless, and thus beginning now would be only logical. With our populations slowly, but steadily expanding, eventually we would need access to more protected farmland that we would cultivate into crops and not to mention more space to house them. Things were cramped up here often already and we could no longer expand our main compound without risking the security and structural integrity of our fortifications.

Thus I saw little point in prolonging the action for as long as possible as Kirren was in favour of. While expansion into unfamiliar territory was indeed a risk, as was getting situated and setting up a whole new Sanctuary-like holding, it was a process that I believed was better started sooner rather then later, that way we could be prepared in advance for when the time came.

I was just discussing the alternative merits to having a second main base of operations that was away from the Sanctuary when a low, pained grunt and the sharp, slightly hollow sound of metal hitting earth echoed dully in my ears.

Whirling in place over the rough, newly exposed surface of the wood stump, and getting splinters in places I'd rather not talk about I looked towards the noise, and despite the piping hot summer sun, a chill ran through me as I swore my blood ran cold.

Too this day I am still not entirely sure what I expected to see when I turned towards him. And even now, despite the time that has past, I don't let myself dwell on it, because I know that the possibilities would be endless, and frankly the majority of them are probably quite terrifying.

But even I couldn't have been prepared for this. Because after everything that had happened, after everything we had been through, it didn't seem _**right**_…it didn't seem_**fair**_. It was as if the entire universe was having the world's longest laugh at our expense. And god, I was bloody well sick of it.

Thor was hunched into himself, his shoulders caved inwards as he clutched his right arm, the fingers of his hand still splayed out into empty space, as if not fully registering that the axe had already left his suddenly nerveless fingers.

"Thor? …Thor! What's wrong?" I questioned, scrambling to my feet as his face morphed, screwing up into a facial expression that would have been terrifying if I hadn't recognized it. Pain…It was _pain._ I hadn't seen that look on his face since the first moment that I met him…right after he had slid across a section of pavement that had reduced his exposed skin to something gaggingly reminiscent of raw hamburger.

Kirren moved faster then me however, because in a moment he had crossed the distance between us and had Thor's other arm in a vice grip, his fingers tight over Thor's pulse point just as the man started to sag dangerously downwards.

With a quick, but infuriately calm voice Kirren instructed the two children, still watching wide eyed at our feet to run back to the compound for help, but I only caught the odd words of 'run', 'help' and 'truck' before my attention swerved back to Thor once again, my hand curling reflexively around his broad back as he let out a low, pained grunt.

The children bolted off like startled jack rabbits, not even pausing or questioning the order as they darted off across the clearing as fast as their legs could carry them. Their little feet eating up the distance as the front gates glinted metallically in the distance, reflecting the power of the noon sun.

_They knew better then to question that tone of voice. _

I was desperately trying to coax a response out of Thor, a word, a clear look, anything, as Kirren got on the radio relaying the situation back to the control tower, ordering for a truck and for the medical staff to be ready for our return.

"What's wrong with him!" I demanded, pushing in close against Thor's right side as Kirren and I lowered him the rest of the way to the ground, with the mans weight making it turn out to be more of a controlled fall then anything else, with Kirren quick to ease him down supine as I slid a bag underneath his head for support.

"I think he is having a heart attack." Kirren bit out, voice clipped and professional, yet tingued with something so close to worry that an entirely new brand of panic blossomed like a knife thrust in my breast.

_Because if Kirren was worried…No!_ _Not like this. I wouldn't..I couldn't accept that!_

And suddenly I was angry, furious even. Rage, disbelief and frustration all bubbled to the surface like molten metal burbling to a broil in a kiln.

_Not this..please not this..Not him._

And maybe he could see it in my face because a moment later a gargantuan hand came up to rest against my shoulder, the weight of it almost sending me sprawling over him, pitching me dangerously forward as his control over the movement seemed to fail him in mid-motion.

And even that alone was so fucking **wrong**, because Thor was always overly conscious of his giant size and mammoth strength. The man pranced and lumbered out of the way for spiders for Christ sakes! I could count on one hand alone the times he had forgotten himself in such a way.

"Hey, no. It's okay Shortstop. I'm fine." He gasped, his words hesitant and choppy as he struggled to breathe.

"Fine my ass!" I shrilled back, leaping half over him and to his side even as my fingers jabbed tightly against his pulse point. It was too fast. Oh god…way to fast.

"Thor! _Thor!_ Don't you dare go anywhere!" I yelled as his eyes fluttered alarmingly, shaking his massive, almost unmoveable hulk of a shoulder until his eyes focused on me again.

I didn't even realize I was crying until one of his hands brushed weakly, yet somehow still delicately across the span of my cheek, wiping up my tears as he graced me with a small, pained smile when I captured it, holding his head up to my face and pressing it against my soaked cheek, wordless admist the spiralling confusion all around us.

"Shh..'Nah..Don't cry. You…you got this.." He murmured, his face twisting as he clutched at his chest again, his fingers seizing, clenched against the material of his t-shirt as if he could somehow dig through it, and into his chest to remove whatever it was that was killing him.

"I am NOT losing you Thor! You hear me! Don't make me follow you and drag your sorry ass back here from hell you big bastard!" I yelled, almost losing it in relief as his eyes blinked open once again, what might have been a chuckle turning instead into a choking, dry rattle of a cough even as the hand currently gript fast in my own squeezed my fingers lightly.

Desperate to keep talking him talking, to keep him conscious, words fell like tear drops from my lips, the fingers of my other hand tangling and releasing, mingling accidentally with Kirren's own as his hands drifted swiftly and professionally along Thor's barrel like chest, counting his heartbeats and pulse…calculating blood pressure even as the giant man below us began to struggle for breath.

"Hey.. _Hey_ Thor, look at me. Yeah, that's it. Good." I praised as his eyes barely trained back towards my face, pupils going unfocused and clouded even as I watched. "Remember when..remember when we first met." I choked. "And you thought I was a stiff?"

"You lifted me clean off the ground with one hand..remember? You were so furious, so _desperate_ to live that you were willing to fight tooth and nail for it, remember that? Come on Thor…You gotta do that again Buddy. I know you can." I coaxed, gripping his collar with my free fist and shaking him with as much strength as I could muster, a broken, wordless noise ripping from my throat when all the move accomplished was to make his head wobble limply.

With distracted fascination I watched as my tears went free falling. Tracking the minute moments as the little incriminating droplets splattered down across the plane of the man's roughly shaven face, before trickling down into the creases of a few well earned laugh lines that stood out like victories carved into his cheeks.

"…It's..It's rain'in.." He murmured softly, his words almost slurred, as if it were a struggle just to string together those few, confused words. "And it was so nice out too…Too bad." He finished, trailing off alarmingly, heedless of my response or the desperate way that I shook him again.

I could feel the weight of Kirren's eyes on me..But I refused to look up. I just _couldn't_. I couldn't look up because I knew what I would find there.. I knew I would see the truth, nothing more, and nothing less. And for once, I knew I couldn't face that.

_Not now_. I _just couldn't.._

Vaguely, somewhere off in the background I heard the rippling scream of tires beating against the gravely, dirt strewn path, the same moment that both our radios came alive with frantic, static strewn chatter. I ignored it all, leaving Kirren to deal with it,_ trusting_ him to know what to do as I turned my attention back to the man laid out beside me.

"Come on, for me..Please." I pleaded, no longer really aware that Kirren was _right _there, pressed up behind me, hearing every word. His hand gentle and ghost like against the small of my back. _But_ _I didn't even care. _I didn't care that I was pleading..no begging. Selfishly begging him to hold on for just a few more moments, _to hold on for me._

_Because if I lost this. Lost him. Well, then nothing else mattered. _

"I am..sorry…I can't-..._Ashley_." He whispered, the sound so breathy, so_ strained_ that I could hardly recognize his voice.

He managed to hold my gaze up until the last few syllables of my name left his lips. And then.._nothing_. Those big, warm brown eyes slid softly closed, his form somehow seeming to slump into itself, like a balloon abruptly let out of air. His body only confirming what I already feared.

"No! Don't you dare!…" I screamed. But he never responded, and I was chased by the mocking echoes of my own yell as they resounded like a death knell through the forest clearing.


	64. Chapter 64

**All standard and previously stated disclaimers apply. Please see previous chapters for ratings, warnings, and other information.**

**A/N #1:** I want to thank all my readers, reviewers, and private messengers! You guys are absolutely golden!

**A/N #2:** Sorry about the wait, I got my wisdom teeth taken out and the surgery totally knocked me for a loop. And on that note, sorry if this chapter sucks. I was sick for most of the past week and a half and I just can't look at this silly chapter ANY longer!

**A Nightmare Walking - Chapter 64**

I was performing CPR right there in the truck bed, ignoring the pain lancing up my thighs as my knees ground painfully against the unforgiving metal, Kirren worked in tandem beside me, doing chest compressions to match my mouth to mouth resuscitation even as the truck skidded clear through the Sanctuary gates, and screeched to a gravely, lurching stop as close to the entrance as the driver, Leuth, some young runt, a drifter that had come across us about six months back from god only knows where, could manage.

It was only when Gary and Celene, a paramedic and nurse pair that had survived together since the beginning, scrambled over the tailgate beside us that we were forced to leap away, giving them space to work as Gary's nasally brogue boomed throughout the courtyard, yelling for bearers, and the defibrillator kit as they loaded Thor onto a wheeled metal gurney and whisked him off down the corridor. Leaving us with nothing to do but to practically fall over ourselves as our long cramped muscles, and tensely held backs slowly loosened enough for us to follow.

I didn't say anything when one of Kirren's hands found my own. I didn't question it. I took the gesture for what it was, a supporting hand, and nothing more. _It had to be… _And as if to drive home that point, in fact it seemed almost by accident that his big, long fingered hand had captured my own at all especially considering the chaotic nature of the hallway. It seemed as though the entire compound was in an uproar.

And yet despite this, despite the impossibility of it, our fingers intertwined loosely as we hurried towards the main medical bay, his presence solid, and assured by my side. And at the time, I really didn't have the moment to fully appreciate just how perfectly his lean form seemed to meld together with the curve of my hip, even despite the narrow nature of the hallway.

Almost knocking over a score of people in our haste, we all but exploded into the crowded medical bay just as the unmistakable electric whine of the charging defibulator paddles echoed through out the room. Celene was all but crawling over Thor as she tried to reach his buttons, and when she finally did the sound of Thor's shirt ripping sounded far to loud in the midst of the chaos of the room to actually be real.

When the first charge hit, I jumped almost as much as Thor's body did, the abrupt meaty thud of concentrated electricity meeting flesh shocking me as though I had received the jolt myself. I remember how my eyes felt too big for my face, my skin seeming to tingle with the sheer desperate tension of it all, stretched to the limit across my face until I swore that if I even thought too loud my very skin to tear in two.

When the second charge hit Kirren bore down so hard on my fingers with his flexing, agitated hand that I had to bite back a pained little cry at the sheer force behind the movement. And for a moment, as Thor's body shook limply, causing the metal gurney that held him to creak warningly, I relished the pain.. thankful of the distraction.

When the third charge came it felt like all the air had been ripped from the room, leaving me to gulp in vain at empty space, desperately chasing the flitting shadows of oxygen as I gasped through the sound of the charging paddles. I took a half a step forward, one arm outstretched when the third charge jerked him, dragging Kirren along with me, as he refused to relinquish my hand.

The silence was palpable. The desolate, lonely beep of the flat lining monitor was the only thing that broke the silence. Everyone was quiet. Everything was quiet.

_Nothing..there was suddenly just…nothing._

And I didn't understand it. This was the moment that it was all suppose to be okay. _This_ was the moment that that old, beat up little heart monitor was supposedly to slowly light up, and that slightly delayed heart beat and pulse was suppose to leap onto the screen.

_This was the moment..I was sure of it._

But nothing happened. The monitor stayed depressing flat and monotone, as if mocking me with its failure, while at the same time showing me everything this moment _could have been._ And worst of all Thor stayed silent, quiet, motionless, expressionless, and far too pale.

And _god_ it was so _wrong_.

My disbelief quickly morphed into confusion and a split second later into anger and frustration as I took in the scene before me. Celene was gazing expressionlessly at Gary, her face already composed in that steady-eyed professional way common to all those in medicine, save for the strange tension in her right cheek, the involuntary tic easily marking where she was viciously gnawing on the inside of her own cheek.

But worse was the way that Gary had begun to lower the paddles, shaking his greying, silver head slightly, as his fingers slackened on the device, placing them down on the gurney softly as he reached for Thor's thick wrist, searching in vain for a pulse that could no longer be counted out.

And Kirren? Well I am still not exactly sure what I thought he should have been doing, but at the time all I knew was that it certainly_ wasn't_ just standing there behind me, his face grim and far too composed looking as my heart broke, falling apart right there in the middle of the room.

_**Why were they just standing there?**_

"What are you waiting for! Again!" I snapped, pulling my hand viciously from Kirren's grip in favour of clenching my fists against my sides until the hurt, my mind vaguely cataloguing the sensation of my nails slicing through the skin of my palms even as Kirren seemed to stop breathing for a moment behind me, the light pressure of his breath against my neck abruptly halting, as if afraid to even breathe lest he break the tenuous silence that had befallen the room, a silence that only I seemed brave enough to dismiss.

_**Why were they waiting! I didn't understand it!**_

"Gary! What the hell are you doing? Again!" I screeched, desperation straining my voice until it sounded flighty, weak, and so much unlike my own that I was tempted to turn around and wonder just who had spoken over me.

"Again!" I finally screamed, that single word seeming to fill up my mind and over flow into all the available space of the room. Resounding, throbbing, pounding through me until spots of brightness exploded like fireworks into the edges of my vision.

But they didn't listen; in fact no one in the room would even meet my eyes.

I knew my eyes were accusing as I stared at them, I didn't even have to say anything, the look alone was enough to make Celene droop into herself, almost like a turtle does when retreating back into the safety of it's shell. While it caused Gary to only sigh and tilt his head, his eyes flashing quickly to mine before dropping back to the table again, and I wanted to slap that paternal, sympathetic look right off his stupid face.

I didn't need his sympathy or anyone else's, I needed action damnit! Everyone was hearing but no one was listening! Had the world gone mad? Had everyone suddenly become punch drunk in the summer heat! God damn it what was happening here!

Despite my anger, horror battled for first place on my face. No one was listening to me! _Jesus Christ! _This was a man's life! Was one more jolt too much to ask!

_**It wasn't! It never would be…Not when it meant a life. Not when it meant his..**_

Words returned with a vengeance, and this time when I yelled all semblance of civility and composure were lost, because now all I could see was the faint, pale blue color that was beginning to tint the outside of his lips, and all I could hear admist the deafening silence was that tinny, flat lining noise that callously blared out the death of hope.

_Because now all I could see was a life spanning forward through the years to come, that was as empty, acrid, and bereft as the harshest desert. A life of nothing. _

But instead of replying, Gary only looked over the top of my head at Kirren, shaking his head in a negative and slowly turning away, as if this somehow closed the matter.

And then very abruptly, but really, not altogether surprisingly, I was no longer angry or confused. _I was furious._

I was so _**furious**_ that my vision was half blurred with red. Filmed over like a thin, porous red gauze that tinted the world red in a way I hadn't experienced since I had first levelled that old, pockmarked shot gun, with the last thing my eyes having seen before the trigger had clicked home was Dan, laying supine and grey in his sweat stained uniform, his fingers clutched protectively around that crumpled photograph, his eyes fixed on those smiling faces, that of his wife and son that he was soon to follow to oblivion. _Because of me.._

_And now again…Thor. I couldn't save him._

And now, all I saw _was them both_. Because now Thor and Dan's image were superimposed over each other, the image burning through my retinas and seemly secreting from my very pores in order to drown me in both the past and present, creating this snarling, vicious, terrifying…_thing_ inside me that I just couldn't control. _That I didn't want to control._

I was half way around the table and reaching for the paddles..or perhaps Gary.. before Celene or the Doctor could even blink. And for a moment the movement felt a little bit like living again because it was like every millimetre of my skin had flared life, sensitive to the smallest sensation. I could feel the air whispering across my skin, even the rush of that startled, warm exhale of Kirren's breath misting across the nape of my neck, and I was disturbed, despite myself as my arm brushed briefly across the expanse of Thor's own, something inside me recoiling at the feeling of his already cooling, clammy flesh.

But I will never actually know for sure just what I had been planning to do because before I made it Kirren was suddenly _there._ With a speed that my volatile, confused mind just couldn't comprehend, somehow had he twisted himself in front of me, deliberately and quite pointedly standing in between me and Thor. Me and Gary…me and Celene…me and the door.

"He's gone Ashley…He's gone."

Ignoring him I tried to push past, making to step around him, my face twisting as he refused to back down. But when I parried in the other direction, my arm stretched out to shove past him, this only gained me his arm wrapped around my wrist, caught fast in his strong grip.

And predictably, like an animal corralled for slaughter I baulked.

"Let go of me you bastard!" I snarled, my peripheral vision only just catching the movement that marked the departure of Gary and Celene as they slipped wordlessly out the door, silently pulling it closed behind them and leaving us alone. _Cowards._

"Let me go Kirren." I said quietly, my voice such a deathly, terrible calm that it would have given the devil himself pause. But Kirren said nothing, he just…_looked. _His eyes boring into mine, invasive and unwelcome as the color of his irises grew expansive, gleaming with so much left unspoken…so much _feeling_ that I had to look away.

He wasn't _allowed _to do that._ Not __**now.**_ Not after years of his quiet, stalwart demeanour, where his emotions had been masked beneath that of professionalism and survival. He wasn't allowed to fall apart now. He _couldn't._

Struggling and cursing I lashed out, desperation and grief making the movements slow and clumsy, so that my well aimed knee to his groin earned me only his thigh pressed tightly, but far too gently across the span of my knees. While the vicious elbow thrust meant for his nose resulted only in his other arm wrapping tightly around mine. Finally all that was left for me was to struggle, twisting and lashing out with all the strength I possessed, trying in vain to loosen his grip as he murmured words that I could no longer hear.

Finally I could struggle no more, with weakness, fatigue, and emotional distress rolling over me like waves, leaving me helpless and disconnected, drifting in the barren emptiness of space so that it was almost a relief when my body registered the warm press of his own as he used it to immobilize me completely, leaving me shouting, cursing, screaming, yet altogetherly helpless as he pulled me into his embrace, lowering us both gently to the floor, and crooning softly into the crook of my neck as I finally began to cry.

He held me tightly, covering my body with his own until every possible square millimetre of his skin was hunched protectively over my own. He held me like he felt I was going to somehow slip away. _Like I was going to leave._ And really…how ironic is that?

Later, when they thought they were out of ear shot, as I stood vigil beside his body, safe behind the screened off area that served as our makeshift morgue, people began throwing around words like Acromegaly and Gigantism, shaking their heads as they wrote things like 'myocardial infarction' and 'cardiopulmonary arrest' down onto their clip boards. As phrases like 'it was only a matter of time' and 'inbred heart condition' dropped like party favours from their guilty lips.

They used these words as if by them alone they could somehow make this all better.. And I had to muffle a retch as bile rose in my throat at the mere thought. The anger burned in my gut more acrid and poisonous then the bile itself.

I was angry at them. _Angry at myself._ Hell, I was even angry at Thor, angry at him for leaving me…for _leaving. _And for a moment all I could feel was my pulse throbbing like a growing drum beat, reverberating deafeningly through my skull until I thought I might just pass out or throw up after all. Breathing deeply I forced my fist between my teeth and bit down viciously, refusing to stop even when the slow ooze of warm copper dropped tangy and bitter on my tongue. I had one hand clenched in a death grip around the steel table's single metal railing as I still hovered over his large still form, closing my eyes and forcing myself to just _focus_ and _breathe_.

And as I gradually calmed, falling more then sitting down on the old wooden chair set up beside the morgue table, I realized that for the first time in eight long years, for the first time since the outbreak and indeed for the first time in my life, I felt lost.

_Alone.._

I felt like I had lost something infinitely precious and yet integral to my very being. As if Thor had been the last thing that had anchored me to my self. That kept me and everything I was from just withering away entirely. And now he was gone..and I was left with nothing. _Oh god..nothing._

Even now I can't fully bring the feelings..the emotions I felt at that time to words. Nothing seems to do that time justice…descriptions and words seem to pale in comparison to what it truly felt like..what it felt like to felt _lost_, to feel so _empty_, _impotent, _and _alone._

Thor had always been my strength. More then anyone else it had been him that had always been by my side. Through thick and thin, right from the very beginning of things he had always had my back. He had believed in me when I couldn't find it in me to believe in myself. He had given me back the ability to laugh, and smile, to be able to step back and see things through a different perspective.

He had been there to let me know when it was time to quit, and when it was time to stay. When the risk was too high to try, or when we couldn't possibly live with ourselves if we didn't at least _try._

He had been the one that had always kept me honest, the one that continually pulled me back if I was getting too far ahead of myself, and the one I knew I could count on no matter what.

He would have walked through fire for me, and hell..I would have done the same for him.

Thor had always been strong. Strong in that quiet, almost unassuming way that someone might miss if they aren't looking so close. Many people saw Thor for what he outwardly appeared to be, a massive man, nearly seven feet and build like a Mac truck. A grizzled, dark brown beard that had slowly gone to seed with a the odd smattering of premature grey and white, his long dark brown hair tied along the nape of his neck in that loose, ever presence pony tail.

But he had been_ so_ much more. To _me_..to _us_..to _this place._

Somehow, despite the fact that the first thing he did upon meeting me was nearly strangling me to death, ever since that fateful day in the snow and blood muddied streets of that nameless farm side town, as he came barrelling down the street towards me, his giant frame entirely dwarfing that damnable motorbike and the undead all but nipped at his heels, Thor had become much like my _own_ holy trinity of sorts. He had been like my father, my brother, my best friend all melded into one.

_He had been for me. Always for me._

He reminded me of what I had lost while at the same time giving me what I had desperately needed. _Family._

He had been something kind, gentle, and so inherently good that it hurt to know that he too had lost so much, and yet still had the strength in that massive, bear like heart of his to not only push on and strive for something better in this fucked up world of ours, but to also drag me along with him, refusing to let me get the better of myself in the bad times, and always there for a quick laugh with me in the good.

_But now he was gone. And I was alone. _

And as I stood watch over him all throughout that night, unable to move myself any farther from his side then to the edge of that fluttering, shadowy curtain that separated us from the rest of the world, _**that**__ was when it happened_.

It struck me like a blow to the heart, furious yet oh so clear in its desperate insistency. It left me breathless in its wake..in the pure implicit insanity of it all..

_**Because suddenly I knew what I had to do. **_

Staggered by the enormity of it I fell backwards into the wooden chair with an audible thud. I remember how for a long moment it was all I could do but to just let myself sit there, scrubbing at my prickly, tear stained face with my hands as I blew out a rhythm of long, barely contained breaths.

Anger, ferocity…even my slightly maniacal thoughts of retribution had suddenly parted, making way for a strange, vicarious, and very much foolish sense of purpose. _But it was purpose nonetheless, _and I clung to it like an anchored boat in an ocean squall, letting my dark curls swing down, shielding my eyes from the flickering, orange glare coming from the room outside the thin, fabric sheeting. Mentally shoring myself up..slowly pulling myself back from the brink of what had promised to be a truly spectacular breakdown, and steadying myself for the tasks ahead.

I had a plan now..I knew what I had to do. It was suddenly so simple..so _right_, that I couldn't believe I hadn't thought of it sooner. I could feel the grim expression lining my face as if the expression was not my own, numb, yet hyper aware of the way it pulled tautly down across my dry, tear tracked face, feeling the unique sensation of the salty, drying moisture as it pulled and rubbed as my lips curved downwards.

Shaking my head I forced myself to rise, there was much to do and little time in which to do it in.

'_This was going to have to be timed exactly right and…'_

Finally looking up for the first time in what felt like an age, guilt flooded quickly through me, and I glanced, downcast and guilty at Thor's still form. It felt almost as if I had slighted him somehow by thinking of other things so soon after his passing. Indeed it hurt to know that I wouldn't be there to mourn him…to _remember_ him as was our custom the day after burial.

_God the man was still warm and here I was wrapped up in myself for Christ sakes!_ What kind of narcissistic asshole was I? This was wrong…wrong, wrong, wrong!

What _right _did I have?

And it hurt more then I cared to think about when I thought about what _he_ would have thought if he had known what I was going to do…

_But that didn't matter anymore. Because he was gone. He was gone and he wasn't coming back. Not for me..not for anyone. Not anymore._

There was only one thing left that I could do for him..

Wiping my face I forced myself to regaining my strong stance and I held myself firm, inwardly fascinated by the sudden, terrifying calm that had descended over me as I did something I _hadn't_ been able to do for Rachel..

And with a slow, but painfully deliberate movement I reached down, almost toppling over completely as my head pounded and my vision swam, and pressed a long, heartbreakingly final kiss on his cooling temple. Greedily breathing in the good, natural, heady scent of the man, forcing myself to remember this rather then the still body arranged below me. _Choosing_ what memory I wanted to stay with me and bleeding out the bad.

'_I am sorry'._ I murmured. Not exactly sure even as I did so, if I was sorry for failing him, or sorry for what I was about to do. But perhaps, it was really a mix of both.

He wouldn't have liked this. **What I was going to do…** No one would. He wouldn't have even let me. He would have tied me to my bed and then sat on me, as unmoveable as a mountain when I would eventually wriggle free. He had always had an eerie sixth sense when it came to me, that's why he had always been one step ahead of my antics and shenanigans often before I even had a chance to start them. That was why he knew I wasn't infected that day I came out of solitary. Because he knew me_ that_ well..

In a large way, he was the reason I was still alive. In more ways then one..

But now that was over. That part of my life was gone, ripped away, _lost._ And I had only one thing left to me, only one thing left that I **could** do.

_**I had to go home..**_


	65. Chapter 65

**All standard and previously stated disclaimers apply. Please see previous chapters for ratings, warnings, and other information.**

**A/N #1:** Sorry about the delay, I meant to have this up Friday but editing it was a pain in the rear and I ended up actually splitting the chapter in half when it became far too long. And even then, right after that, I started adding parts to it all over again. SIGH. My muse is being sassy this weekend. I think it has to do with the busy week I have had a work, there has been little time for her to come out and play!

**A/N #2:** _**RT, Punisherstfu, & Ghetto Outlaw**_: Thanks in particular for your reviews. I think that's the biggest compliment a writer can receive, to know that they have inspired emotion in regards to the story from the reader!

**A Nightmare Walking - Chapter 65**

It was only when I reached the beginning of the paved, back country road that marked the end of the mountain trail and the start of remote civilization once more that I finally let myself breathe out a sigh of relief. I had made surprisingly excellent time; the dawn was only just beginning to streak the grey skies, setting the skyline ablaze with a mural-like landscape of gentle orange and soft red hues.

_It was the kind of sunrise that almost made you believe that nothing in the world could possibly be wrong, evil, or wicked. Even if you knew better._

But if anything, the sight of that lush and all too beautiful dawn made me clench the steering wheel all the tighter, shifting the truck back into second gear with a vicious yank on the stick and a well timed stomp on the clutch. As all the while I pointedly ignored the indignant screech of gears as Joe's old truck grudgingly down shifted back into place, offending my ears as the underside of the cattle scoop attached to the front, grated across the crumbling blacktop, accelerating the ornery vehicle up and out of a particularly deep dip in the road.

Joe was going to murder me when he found out I took his truck. I was sure of it. And perhaps a few days earlier that observation might have actually meant something more to me then just a simple offhand thought. _But now.._

Blinking into the growing light I rubbed my eyes tiredly, looking behind me briefly before pulling into a forested turn around just off the main road as I killed the engine and listened closely. _Nothing.._ No roar of an engine, nor sound of pursuit of any kind. It seemed as though no one had realized I was gone yet.

_Thank god for small mercies. _

The longer they thought I was still holed up in my room, the better. I had locked the door from the inside and scooted down the fire pole two roofs down from my window, thinking that even if Kirren, or one of the others decided to get adventurous and break my self imposed solitude, they would be forced to imagine that I didn't want visitors until frustration, worry, and well meaning concern drove them to pick the lock.

_Kirren..God I didn't even __**want**__ to think what he would do.._

I was breaking about a dozen of my own rules, rules that I held other people too, rules that had been put into place to protect the Sanctuary and its people. And yet, I could even bring myself to care enough to feel guilty.

For the first time in my life I felt…broken. _Damaged.._ God, it felt like I felt too much, I just couldn't stand it anymore..

They wouldn't understand. No one could. I had to leave. I had to go. I couldn't stay here..not after.. I couldn't stay knowing that every time I closed my eyes all I would see were those sightless, green eyes. Eyes once so warm, so _alive,_ now staring up into nothingness until Celene pressed them closed and drew a sheet, one far too small for Thor's massive frame, up over his face.

_Covering him up, covering him over, hiding him._ As if he hadn't really been there in the first place.

I know that all would see if I stayed was that one absurdly big plot of land, and the stone hewn gravestone had had been pushed viciously into the earth, tilting somewhat to the left and refusing to lay straight, as though the very earth was rejecting the end of that big, kind hearted man.

_I just couldn't. _

And I knew they wouldn't have understood, they wouldn't have let me go. Especially not Kirren. No…He never would have let me leave. Out of everyone..he wouldn't have ever let me go.

I couldn't explain the need to return home any more then I could justify it. In the past I had watched a few drive determinedly out the Sanctuary gates, similar journeys spurring them forward, usually to search for the slim hope that their own loved ones and friends had somehow escaped the hordes. None of them had ever returned home.

But the power behind this need…the sheer gut clenching strength of it had struck me dumb with the same crystal clear purpose that I had only really felt while staring down the neck of a particularly liberal bottle of red wine.

In a fact, I was blinded to all else but the desire to return home.

_Nothing else mattered._

And what was worse was that I knew there was nothing there for me. How could there be? My home had stopped being that the moment I had torn through the garage door and into the waiting horde, Tia barking frantically as the moans of the undead all but drowned out the subtle thrum of the engine as we streaked down the road and out of sight.

There was no one there for me to go back too. Hell for all I knew my house could be completely destroyed. Indeed it wasn't uncommon for a fire, whether natural, or otherwise, to spring up within the cities, or even spread into the urban areas from a close by forest fire. Left to lay waste to the old neighbourhoods and city blocks unhindered until the rains doused out the flames, or it eventually consumed itself.

Indeed the town closest to the southern most reaches of our territory had fallen victim to a similar event during our third year at the Sanctuary. And we watched as the town burned, with the flames only dying out when there was nothing left to burn. It had been rather humbling.

_For all I knew my house wasn't even there anymore._

But regardless I couldn't shake the naked need thrumming through me, feeling the certainty of it vibrating up my very bones, insisting that I go regardless._ No matter what the cost or risk._.

I just couldn't shake the feelings that told me that _**I had to**_, that _this_ was where I was supposed to be.

I had survived this long by making a habit of listening to my instincts. I was constantly alert for that small inner voice, or that strange urge that you sometimes get. And as it so often happens, it is that little voice, that ends up saving your sorry ass, telling you to duck just before the bullet leaves the barrel, or drop and roll with just inches to spare, as a rotting, festered fist swipes through the air exactly were your arm had been only moments before.

Who was I to stop listening now?

Shaking my head, as though to rid myself of any doubts, I sighed, sucking in a deep noisy breath and holding it as my ears strained for the sound of pursuit. But after a long and almost eerily silent moment I let the pent up breath loose, watching as the plume caused a slight fog to gust across the inside of the windshield, pausing across the surface in the morning chill before slowly fading, leaving the glass moist with condensation in it's wake.

_It was time._

I reached the official boundary line that distinguished our territory from the open range far quicker then I had anticipated. And without ceremony I simply blew past the two tall cement cylinders we had placed on either side of the road, purposely narrowing the opening to one truck width with almost reckless speed, wanting to get past those two grim, circular sentries and the memories they held as fast as possible.

Because I remember how boyishly pleased Thor had been when he had strained the Bob cat to it's limit, grinning hugely as everyone had winced, covering their ears from the sound as he had forced the cement cylinders across the blacktop, grating them solidly into position.

Placing them there to mark our boundaries was more symbolic then anything, it proved that we _existed_…that we still _lived_. It reminded us every time we saw them, every time we passed through them on our way to a supply mission that we _had_ survived, that each and every one of us _had made it_.

It reminded us that we were _stronger_ then we could have ever dreamed, and _tougher_ then we ever thought we could be. And perhaps most importantly, it reminded us that in spite of the danger, in spite of the death and decay of our present, that _life_ was still there to be lived, and people were still there to be loved.

It represented that life was a gift that was squandered only at your own risk. And that more then anything, you were a fool to waste the time that you_ did_ have.

Going through those cylinders was something akin to a religious experience for us now. As cars and trucks would often slow as they approached and went through as people took the moment to remember.. to remind themselves that they were all still here, here for a _reason_, and to be grateful for the gift they had all be given.

_Life._

I suppose in a way then, it was appropriate that I gunned the engine to its limit as I passed, not slowing down until the two blank monuments had disappeared entirely from my rear view mirror.

_Because I was not grateful. Not anymore_.

One hand firm on the wheel I shifted gears as I approached an growing incline, coaxing the ornery engine into compliance as my attention drifted back to the CB again, deftly switching through to the less official channels, knowing that if anyone discovered my absence those would be the first channels that I would hear it on.

I almost wish I could say that I was scared, especially now when I can look back on those trying days. A rational person _would_ have been, setting out alone outside our holdings. No backup, no partner, no one to watch you back or save your ass if something went totally FUBAR. Actually, a rational person would have had license to be absolutely terrified. But I wasn't being a rational person. _I was being an idiot._

A thousand things could go wrong at any moment. But I just didn't a give shit anymore. It was suicidal in a way, and yet, just as equally, it wasn't at all. It wasn't that I wanted to die.. No. In fact it was far from it. I suppose…I suppose now that I can look back on it, I was actually searching for a reason _**to**_ _**live.**_

Shucking off the baseball cap I had left in, having hoped that the wide brim would have obscured my face if anyone _had_ seen me leave, I unpinned my hair with one hand and shook the messy curls loose even as I twirled the wheel, coasting easily around the faded, burnt out wreckage of a school bus. Enjoying the sensation of the wind as it teased the strands, occasionally gusting across my scalp and sending the ringlets tangling together, buffeted across my face in the growing cross breeze.

And as I passed I forced myself not to look too closely at the little, rust coloured hand prints of old, long spilt blood that remained despite the years, reflected starkly through the weather beaten glass, as the bus driver, or what was left of him, remained sentinel, still belted in his seat. Hunched over as if brooding against the wide steering wheel as the gleam of old bone glinted dully in the morning sun through his torn, sun bleached uniform.

Sighing I surveyed the road ahead of me closely. _This is why I hated getting close to the cities. _ It was like trying to navigate through an obstacle course set up by a fully certified anal retentive lunatic!

All up ahead of me the road was dotted, and in some places even blocked entirely with the wrecks of long abandoned cars, downed trees and electrical poles, rubbish, and even the odd boney carcass that might, at one point, have actually been something human.

_And this was just a small sample of what nearly a decade of hell had wrecked upon the highways._

'_Or rather what was left of them.' _I remembered thinking, shrewdly observing a section of rapidly deteriorating pavement off to the right of where I was driving, with the road having at some point concaved inwards, sinking down into itself as the ground beneath it had evidentially eroded.

Switching the CB over to the Sanctuary's main channel I listened closely to the early morning chatter. The Sanctuary was just waking up, with the sleepy grumbles of the graveyard shifts grousing about stale coffee and all manner of things before they switched off into static and yawns as the pre-caffeinated buzz of the next shift filtered in. But for once I didn't smile; it felt like my face might snap if I even tried.

With a quick glance back to the road I swerved with well accustomed familiarity around a long section of down power lines that draped partially across the road, hanging down like thick, tendril-like vines over a crushed SUV, the weather beaten exterior coated with a thick layer of grime, and old scorch marks, near ancient indications of what had happened here.

Indeed, this scene had quite the story to tell, as the drivers side door remained still partially flung open and creaking slightly in the breeze. Untouched by time, as if simply waiting expectantly for an owner that would never return. The weather trashed interior strangely free of the stains of old blood, or even the slightest sign of a struggle, with even a still packed suitcase positioned precise straight and all too orderly across the passenger seat, the handle jutting out and all but waiting to be easily grabbed, the key chain jiggling softly in the light breeze from the key still rooted ignition.

If such a thing as ghosts exist in this world…I am sure it is in places like _**this**_ that they live.

Swerving to the left I directed the old Ford off road, bouncing along jarringly as the massive wheel powered through a rutted, well worn tire track that cut through the fallow field that shadowed the roadway. And I gritted my teeth as the old vehicle moaned metallically, my body automatically rocking and swaying for a moment, in sync with the movements of the truck as I switched gears and gunned the engine up through the ditch until it was back on the road again, the clutch whining warningly at the rough treatment.

Eyes alert I scanned the vehicle strewn road ahead, and I blinked in spite of myself as I coasted around the remains of a semi tractor trailer pile up, with the shells of flipped, weather worn, and even burnt out wrecks dotting the road like party favours to the world's biggest stag party gone bad.

I had only rarely been out outside our holdings in this direction and every time I saw that horrendous metallic graveyard my blood chilled in my veins. Because this, _this_ is the reason why all those years ago I had instinctively avoided the highways.

Because in an effort to escape the hordes, the survivors of the cities, those that actually made it out of the urban neighbourhoods and the crowded city centers, in their desperation far too many took to the highways, skidding onto the 97 and to hopeful freedom like a snowball escaping the fires of hell. And it _would_ have been a good idea…except almost everyone of those other survivors had had the _exact _same idea.

It had turned into freeway of death, a virtually schmorgasboard of all you can eat human happy meals that went on as far as the naked eye could see as multi car pile ups, stalled cars, abandoned vehicles, and god only knows what else caused mile long traffic jams and slaughter corrals.

Some had tried to run, make it out on foot. But they brought down, because once the undead made it onto the roadways, their numbers only grew. People had changed faster then they could escape, with people turning whilst still half strapped onto their seatbelts, as mothers and fathers were brought down by their own children, and friends were chased down by their own as the hungry mobs fell upon their trapped prey.

Some had opted to remain in their cars, hopeful for rescue, or that by some miracle they would remained unnoticed by the mobs. But that only worked for so long, as once those who had tried to escape on foot had been brought down, the hordes turned on those still in their crushed, trapped, and in some instances entirely hemmed in vehicles.

And while it took a little longer, all the fiends had to do was methodically rip their way though the pesky vehicle wrappings in order to get at the tasty human treats inside.

Poor bastards.

Very few escaped such sites of slaughter. In fact, there was only one man we know of that had survived this very scene, and I can only imagine what he feels every time he is forced to drive through this massacre on the way to a supply run or recon mission. Jarlo Oscosh was one of the very few that located us pure by accident, having fallen upon the backcountry road after free-roading through endless fields and orchards, having somehow revved his car over the highway embankment and down a dried river bed, narrowly escaping a group that had hemmed in his little four runner admist the stalled traffic of the 97. He had found the road, as remote and as impossible as it sounds, and looking at his emptying gas gauge had decided to and follow it to its end, desperate to escape the open highways and get as far away from the growing bands of undead as he could before his tank ran dry.

Needless to say, when he pulled up to our little outpost, not two weeks after we ourselves had begun to set up shop, I am unsure who was more dumbstruck, us or him. He told us later, after he had been well fed and water, and had finally begun to relax amidst our growingly friendly company, that a number of people had tried to follow his example, pointing their cars in the direction he escaped from, but inevitability they had all been over taken before they could make it to the divider, their occupants plucked screaming and thrashing from their vehicles only to disappear, and fall silent seconds later, buried under a sea of sinking, fleshy bodies.

And there had been _nothing_ he could do but _watch_ through his rear view window as one by one, countless hundreds of lives were lost, snuffed out forever by vicious teeth and clawing hands.

And this in itself was saying something, because for Jarlo, his sister and her entire family had been in the van behind him, the sole survivors of their reservation over forty kilometres away. Their van had been broadsided by an out of control SUV as they moved to follow Jarlo's desperate example, the wreckage effectively cutting them off from the side of the road even if they had been able to get the crumpled engine started again. It hadn't been long after that that the undead had descended, shattering the windshield and windows with such force that do this day the man still goes silent and violently still at the sound of breaking glass.

_Bad memories about the family he was forced to leave behind._

And maybe I should have been worried, because this time as I drove past, I deliberately let my eyes take in every detail of the scene right down to the way the rust-like color of old blood had been smeared thickly across the inside of far too many windshield to count, with the occasional handprint swiped out like a last testament through the mess, finger trails tracking like snail trails through the old blood.

I even forced myself to look at the way in which a single forest green mini van stood out virtually unharmed, sandwiched in between a twisted convertible, and a red Mazda with a crushed front end. The van was positioned at an angle, almost riding the center line, with its rolling side door stuck half open, revealing a toy strewn interior and a baby seat torn partially free from it's limp, darkly stained seatbelt.

But perhaps more horrifically, the scene, as they are so oft to do, was one that only seemed to get worse the longer your stared at it. As all too visibly through that half open door was the eerie visage of a starkly pale, porcelain face.

It was the ghostly, bone white face of a doll that stared blankly from the seat closest to the door. It seemed to look straight at you, judging you, _**accusing**_ you through a curtain of its messy, dirt encrusted curls. One of its dainty, fragile little hands flung out, perpetually outstretched, as if reaching out towards a future and a companion that it had somehow inexplicably lost. The only survivor of the worst moment of a families lives.

Yes..perhaps I should have been worried. Because as I rolled past, mindful of the debris and the shocking nature of the scene, I realized that _**now **_when I looked upon it, I felt _nothing._

_Absolutely nothing.._

**Glossary: The name Jarlo Oscosh was a first and last name created with First Nations (ie: Native American origins) 'Jarlo' translates into 'Bear cub' and 'Oscosh' means 'The bravest of all'.**


	66. Chapter 66

**All standard and previously stated disclaimers apply. Please see previous chapters for ratings, warnings, and other information.**

**A/N #1:** I know this one is a little bit shorter then usual. It is a bit of stuff all jumbled up in the middle, not fitting in with the rest. I wrote the majority of it on the holiday Monday. Expect a longer chapter following it up in the next few days. Hope you enjoy!

**A/N #2:** There is a surprise for you guys in this chapter! I wonder how many of you will notice! And, don't fret, I am not going to leave it at that, you will be getting more about_ it_ in later chapters!

**A Nightmare Walking - Chapter 66**

It was well past mid day by the time I finally allowed myself a brief respite from the endless roads. Only feeling safe enough to stop after I had finally been able to turn off from the highways and back onto the seldom traveled, mountain switch-backs, the first available short cut off the highways that would take me in the direction I needed to go.

And the irony of it all didn't escape me when it turned out to be the very same road we had all once travelled, all those years ago, back when our fuel tanks were running desperately low as we searched in vain for a respite from the growing hordes. Our horror only growing with the passing of each and every day as our search for a road to safety, I road that _**I**_ had promised, turned fruitless and bleak.

_And most of all I remember how we almost gave up..almost lost everything..almost._

In a way, I think I will exist on that road, on some conscious level, for the rest of my natural life. I see it in my every nightmare, my every dreaded thought. It is always there, pictured permanently on the back of my closed lids during the bad times, and mere spectre in the good, covering over me like a noxious, oily film wrapped tightly around my eyes.

_Always there._ Haunting my subconscious thoughts with what could have been for all intents and purposes, _**my**_ greatest failure. _A failure that could have cost us our lives._

Strangely, seemed as though, whether I wished it to or not, things were starting to come full circle. And just what_ that_ meant..well I couldn't even begin to guess.

I eased the truck into park admist the violent crunch of the rough gravel road as it scored against the old rubber tires. Listening closely to my surroundings as I let the engine idle off into obscurity, my senses alert for any sound that would indicate the presence of the undead.

Old habits were hard to break.

Nudging my aviators back up my nose, I squinted through the dark shades and up into the sun glinting through the forested canopy. Frowning slightly I doubled checked the time. _Shit. _I may have made good time coming down from the Sanctuary, but the highway travel had cost me over four precious hours.

But I suppose that is the reality of our present. Before the invasion nothing would have been faster then the 97. And I could have simply driven straight into town right from the connecting mountain road that leads down from the Sanctuary. The trip would have only taken, perhaps six or seven hours if the conditions and traffic had been optimal. But now.. Now that six or seven hour trip from the Sanctuary to…well..back _home _would take days. Perhaps only two if I was lucky.

And as for the highways…well maybe if you had wings. Everyone knew you _never_ travelled the highways unless you could strictly help it. Getting caught on the main roads without any way out was akin to playing Russian roulette with live explosives, because sooner or later the fuse eventually runs out.

And besides that, most of the 97 and the other more travelled, connecting roads between the towns and cities along it were often all but impassable, blocked with debris and traffic snarls that made highway driving in most places nearly impossible.

_It wasn't called 'Slaughter Run 97' now for nothing._

Swinging down from the cab in one, smooth, well accustomed movement I let my feet hit the gravel with a harsh, bone jarring shock, I pointedly ignoring the ache as I placed my hands on my hips and arched my back, stretching the kinks of a long day of travel from my sore muscles.

My hand ghosted across the buckles of my gun holster, following the tight belt down to where my thigh holster sat, strapped snugly across my left hip. Letting my fingers unconsciously double check the snaps as I surveyed the area. My eyes taking in the pristine forest road with notable suspicion until I saw it…

Stiffening violently I rolled my shoulders back, reaching back into the cab without taking my eyes off the forest in front of me as my hand closed around the barrel of my Ithaca 37 Ultra light twenty gauge, flipping it into my grip with a frenzy of movement, the click of the safety echoing strangely loud in the subdued forest clearing.

It was to the core, a woman's shotgun. The stock was shorter, and the pitch and height of the comb had been perfectly crafted for more narrow, delicate shoulders. And while I wouldn't admit to it in front of the guys, I loved it to death. It felt like more of an extension of my arm then an actual killing tool, having none of the awkward, bulky baggage I so often felt when handling other shotguns.

Cocking the barrel I held the gun steady against my shoulder as I advanced, my steps measured and cautious, not taking any chances despite the silence as I moved forward. Erring on the side of caution had never steered me wrong before. Better to be over cautious then dead. Or at least _deadish.._

_I knew it._

One of the stiffs had passed this way.

It was impossible to know when; the smear was as old as the tattered piece of sun bleached cloth that accompanied it, snagged on the tree bark beside it, likely when one of them had wandered too close and shuffled up against it.

But the thought alone, that one of those fuckers had ever been up this way was enough to make my hackles rise.

_It felt like a violation to know they that had once made it up this far.._

Angry in spite of myself I whirled back towards the truck, pulling down the tailgate and climbing up to sit inside the truck bed as I pulled out a container of water and some leftovers I had snagged from the mess the night before, stretching slumped out like a starfish across the metal floor as I chewed, trying and utterly failing to just think about nothing.

_It would be a nice for a fucking change.._

I was startled back into the present only minutes later however, nearly choking on my mouthful of water when an iconic and very much unmistakable voice blared through the CB, effectively cutting through the soft, static filled Sanctuary chatter that I had only really been half paying attention too.

_I would know that voice any where.._

And really, how fitting was it, that on _today of all days_, it would be _**his**_ voice coming through on the radio? The universe, as it would seem, was not without a sense of irony.

"_**Ashley its Steve…Come back. Over."**_ Came the voice. His tone more subdued and hesitant then I had ever heard it, despite the considerable amount of years I had known him.

Frozen in inaction I cursed soundly, my voice echoing strangely along the narrow gravel roadway, the words reflecting off into the stillness as the CB lapsed into an anticipatory silence, the frequency of the static making me almost certain that Steve was broadcasting from his usual spot, monitoring CB traffic with the base station unit on the Sanctuary's top floor, in what had originally been deemed as a weather monitoring station by the original builders before the infestation.

Staring at my own CB, a sleek, top of the line Cobra 18 WX STII mobile, I quickly weighed my options. Generally, the range from a base station unit to a moving mobile unit, regardless of the make or model was around forty-eight kilometres…Generally short range, depending on weather, atmospheric conditions, and the number of units currently in use in the area.

It was very possible that even if I _did_ broadcast a short message to evade any suspicions and ensure myself some extra time in between now and the inevitable discovery of my absence, that they might never receive it. The distance and conditions were just too uncertain.

But then again..even if I did beat the odds and my message _was_ heard, it was just as possible that my ruse would be immediately discovered. Steve could do some miraculous things with the CB. He seemed to have an almost frightening knack for it, a sort of sixth sense if you will when it came to the CB…or to be honest, anything even remotely related to a radio.

_No surprise really, given his occupation before the infestation.. _But still, I had once seen him get a signal with just a piece of broken off antenna, an old transmitter, and a coil of partially stripped wiring.

So, the point was that he might be able to actually tell, just from the volume and quality of the broadcast that I was actually no where near the Sanctuary, not to mention even our farthest populated territories.

Then I _really_ _would_ be busted.

The thought made me more then a little uncomfortable, because at the moment, by my estimates, I didn't have _that much_ of a comfortable lead under my belt if they _did_ decide to come after me. And if I knew Kirren, Council go ahead or no, he would bust through the bloody front gates coming after me.

_Stupid, stupid, stupid man…_

As it was I was already well beyond the optimal operating range, having switched to a Side band frequency over two hours ago in order to be able to connect to the Sanctuary chatter at all. And as it was I was already getting more static then clear broadcastings from Home base since I had left the highways and revved the truck deeper into the brush that lined the old logging shortcut I was currently traveling on.

The fingers on my right hand twitched, inching vaguely in the direction of the mike before stilling.

_My decision was made._

And only seconds later, as I steeled myself for whatever might happen next, another voice broke through the airwaves. And not for the first time, I soundly cursed the day I had met Ex-Marine Army Major, Kirren T. Patton of the United States Special Forces Unit.

Though I suppose, celebrated officer or not, he _had_ been ready to give it all up, planning to retire into the Canadian civilian sector after he met his wife, Dabria Williamson, a Captain in the Canadian Army at an Allied Nations base in Afghanistan where he had been on his second tour of duty with Special Forces mission, "Operation Enduring Freedom."

But right now, that was neither here nor there, because it really didn't make him seem like any less of a bastard.

"_**Steve, this is Kirren. Anything I should know about? Come back, over." **_

_I suppose really I shouldn't have been that surprised.._

"_**I thought she might want to know that Joe and his team are on their way home. They just checked in and are only about an hour out."**_ Steve replied, his voice still hesitant, but sounding somewhat relieved to hear Kirren's deep brogue. Almost as if he had been uncomfortable with the thought have having to actually speak with me.

Not that I really blamed him. I hadn't been the most agreeable person over the past few days. No one really knew what to say to me anymore. And to be honest, there wasn't much that anyone actually could say. _Nothing could make this better.._

There was an audible pause, with the channel lapsing off into a rare silence, as if even the static dared not to break it.

"_**Does he know?"**_ Kirren finally asked, his tone noticeably softer after the long pause, almost gentle despite the rough nature of the static filled frequency.

"_**Yeah. He was informed by the Council not long…not long after. And he is asking for her. What do I tell him? Come back over."**_ Steve replied, letting the question air out carelessly, like dirty laundry in a public courtyard. It was enough to make me grind my teeth in the relative silence. Annoyed despite myself at the way the words had sounded. It made me feel almost as if they considered me to be an invalid. _Weak. Unstable.._

.._Or as damaged as I already knew I was._

And good god, how that had stung.

"_**I will go see if she's awake. Over."**_ Kirren returned, his voice noncommittal but determined as the channel switched off into silence. With the sudden absence of words leaving me with nothing but my growingly paranoid imagination for company, my mind racing as equally as my body was tense, as in spite of myself my brain pictured just exactly what the man might be up too.

Would he leave it alone when I didn't answer my door?

_Fuck._

I didn't even wait to hear if Kirren, or even Steve planned to respond. As within a minute, I had flung my thermos, shotgun and packsack back into the cab, and had pitched myself head first into the drivers seat. Not once lifting my foot off the gas pedal until the Sanctuary frequencies had spluttered off into complete, static tinged silence as the kilometres ticked past. The static buzzing, tinny and metallic in the muted silence until I switched the CB off entirely, the movement angry and my expression tight as I twirled the wheel, directing the truck through a sharp curve and letting gravity do the rest, coming around the corner far to fast as I tugged the wheel straight again.

_Whatever was going to happen was out of my hands now._

'_No more distractions.'_ I thought viciously, my hands firm and almost claw-like around the steering wheel as the truck lunged into motion, kicking up a hail of road dust and gravel as the massive wheels powered through the miles, the battered front end arrowing unerringly through the distance, like a compass showing me the way home.

**Author's Note/Glossary Reference:** In choosing Kirren's military background I researched active USA Special Operations Missions that would have been in session around the day of the outbreak in this story. And for a more realistic feel I chose one of the primary current operations of the Special Forces, "Operation Enduring Freedom," lumping him in with a few tours in the Afghanistan location. Kirren's wife, a Canadian Army officer was not involved in this operation, but was on deployment in Afghanistan at the time they met, serving on Special Initiative assignment with the Canadian Counter IED operations. (Also known as: The Counter Improvised Explosive Device Task Force)


	67. Chapter 67

**All standard and previously stated disclaimers apply. Please see previous chapters for ratings, warnings, and other information.**

**A/N #1:** Hey guys, now more then ever I need your comments, constructive criticism and reviews. We are nearing the home stretch and I need your feed back. On that note I would be interested in taking into account your requests, anything you might like to see that I might be able to fit in, let me know! If I can I will definitely consider it! (PS: Other then DJ Steve, I have him well in hand. I promise.)

**A/N #2:** _**Farva82**_ I wanted to thank you for your review, I couldn't reply to it as you were unregistered. Your comments came at exactly the right time! I was slogging through chapter 67, slightly glum about the lack of comments from the last chapter. And bam! Your review was sitting in my inbox! Ha, you read my mind, I have being writing stuff here and there on word documents meant for chapters to come about Kirren's background, which I plan to go into soon. In chapter 66 I outlined his previous occupations and skills, but yes the details are to come. Great minds! Ha!

**A Nightmare Walking - Chapter 67**

As I drove, despite the myriad of things on my mind, and in spite of the overwhelming, and nearly delibiltatingly desperate need to flee…to return home, I found I couldn't completely escape from the feelings that came rushing back as I drove, with every passing kilometre bringing that much closer to the one small city I knew I couldn't evade.

_Home._

Among other things, as I drove along the weather faded road ways, swerving around debris, and driving under long dead signal lights and through weather faded intersections, I was left with little else to do but stew in the quiet fury of my own thoughts, worrying in spite of myself as the remains of civilization began to take shape around me.

_The broken, jagged ruminants of what had once being a thriving metropolis of life, one that had ridden the boundaries between nature and progress, with cities and towns eventually trickling off quietly into the fringes of our provinces natural splendour.. The perfect mix of nature and man made nurture.._

And it made me wonder about humanities future. _Our future._ Did we even have one? And if so, what could it possibly be? How could it be anything other then the life we now knew? One of constant threat, terror, and uncertainty, one where at the end of the day, despite all that you have done, all that you have accomplished and fought for, your survival, and the survival of those that you loved could never be guaranteed.

Life before the infection was one were fate and chance quietly plucked there charges from the living. Soothing their absence with time and circumstance. Leaving behind an absence, but almost always a closure for those they had rendered bereft.

But the life we live today is far different. It is a new brand of horror, a harsh new nightmare. But yet somehow, nowadays, fate and chance are far more honest in their dealings, leaving no question as to why, or how, no longer hiding behind such pitfall emotions as mercy, justice, or compassion.

_Because in the world of today, fate and chance are what they have always secretly been, cold hearted, vicious and as unmoveable as the mountains._

But then, if you are alive today, like me, you know that the act of 'living' doesn't really mean the same things as it used to.

I turned right at a narrow fork in the road, watching out of the corner of my eye as a herd of deer spooked out of the natural clearing the following the road, watching as they bounded through the trees and away from the roaring engine, showing me their snowy white tails as they flitting through the trees and out of sight.

And the whole scene just seemed to prove my point. The wild game was taking back the land that human beings had once held claim too. Hell, last time our team had been out on a supply run we had watched a wild herd of cattle graze through an empty lot behind a Wallmart. They had seemed to fill up all the available space, crowding into the lot and bringing their appetites to bear on the long grasses, the years having turned their numbers vast and their nature feral.

At the time I could hardly believe it. Cows in the city? It had been surreal.

Joe, Thor, Kirren and I had watched from the roof of Steve's hummer as the herd seemed to look up as one, jaws still idly chewing as they flicked their ears and inspected us until we were duly dismissed and they went back to their grazing.

There had been more cattle in that herd then people we had at the Sanctuary.

And it made me think… Even if it _**did**_ end some day, would mankind ever really recover?

Looking around me now, taking in the broken, bloody skeletons of towns I had once travelled, the very thought seemed all but impossible to even consider.

Could we ever sleep soundly again? Complacent in the knowledge that it was all really over?

And now that I made myself think about it, even if everything changed and the world got better, I realized that this whole thing had probably ruined me for a normal life.

How could I just pick up where I had left off? I truly doubted I could. I had changed too much. This life, as hard and harsh as it was had moulded me in its image. I had changed in order to survive, and somehow I just couldn't see myself going back to school, getting my Masters degree and then my PHD..

_I just couldn't see it. _

It retrospect it seems impossible to think that I hadn't thought about our future..my future at one point.. Perhaps I did, but had been too distracted to notice. Even I have to admit, as prepared and as forward thinking as I generally strive to be, and despite the growing numbers of years that have come to pass, I realize now that I never gave much serious thought to anything else beyond that of survival.

_Until now._

After all, it is rather hard to look to the future when you live in a constant state of awareness towards that fact that you probably don't have one…

If there_ is_ to be any more additions to the history books of humanity I cannot help but wonder what they might someday say. I doubt that anyone will ever really know _what_ started it. Every person seems to have a different story. Everyone one of us heard a different news report, radio broadcast or second hand story right before everything went to shit. Everyone, everyplace was reporting something different in those last few days, desperate for answers, for a _reason_.

In fact I think that's what bugged people the most, not knowing _why, _or even _how. _It was the _not knowing_ that really ate at you.

In all the fear, confusion, and panic, the truth, if it had ever been there in the first place had been buried under a mound of uncertainty, lies, and half truths until it was all but indistinguishable from the rest.

We have heard it called an infection, an invasion, a repercussion, a virus, a moment of judgement, and yes, even as an act of divine intervention. But no one really knows. I wonder if it would actually change anything if we were to know? Would it really change the reality of now? And really, who is to know? Perhaps, like so many things in history, this too is destined to remain a mystery.

Though, I still cannot help but wonder what history might say about us. About the survivors? …Or would there be anything left worth writing about at all?

Will anything that I write here ever survive me? Ever survive the coming years? Will it really make a difference in the end that one stubborn woman, who began this journey as a girl, close to a decade a ago, survived long enough to ply pen to paper and make an account of her time here?

Furthermore will these words even matter? _Do they even matter? _When you read them, if you are now, alive, a survivor like me, do they matter? Do you feel the same things I feel? Have you seen the same things? Done the same things? Do these words resonant within you? Provide you with comfort? Or perhaps understanding? Maybe the feeling that coming with nothing you have not had to face this new, terrible world alone?

Or am I just being sentimental, pretentious fool that is clinging to the past in face of a future I just cannot bring myself to accept?

Am I a fool to hope for a future? Am I a fool to hope and dream for something better? _Perhaps._

Still to this day I am plagued by a series of nightmares. And they aren't the usual ones, the ones that all of us today, have in some fashion. Nightmares like being hemmed in from all sides, facing impossible odds…or facing only one when your gun inexplicably fails and your knife sheath is despairing empty.

_No, this one is far more worrisome and complex_.

Repeatedly I have dreamt that somehow our prayers had been answered. That somehow _this_ was all over and that we had finally been freed of the undead threat for good. But when we had returned to the cities, we no longer knew how to work them. Too much talent had been lost, too much knowledge and expertise. I dreamt that it was finally over, yet that our technology was useless to us. All that had been built by the generations that had come before was as lost to us as the disappearing sands in an hourglass.

And as much as I hate to admit it, we are well into raising a new generation that barely understands what a computer is for in the first place.

How can I really go about telling children like Abby and Ryder at the Sanctuary about the massive ships the used to sail the oceans? Of the million and millions of people that had once lived, loved, and cared for one another? Or of the rockets and shuttles that had once powered up through the atmosphere and into outer space, exploring the stars that we can only see and dream about on a clear, crisp night?

_How could I possible tell them of things that they had never seen? Things that they could only imagine from my words alone while sitting surrounded by a circle of candles on a windy, winter night, the generators working overtime just to provide some heat as we shivered and told stories in the face of the winter storms?_

The one time I tried, telling Ryder, about the International Space Station that was likely still orbiting the Earth far, far about us, his face had lit up, but not in the way I would have hoped. Instead of focusing on the technological marvel that it was, Ryder, the little genius that he was immediately seized upon the benefits of such a position, his dark eyes shining as he commented only that: "It would be safe up there."

I could have cried.

_God, the world has gotten so fucked up._

And grudgingly, the thought reminded me of something Kirren had once said. It was years back now, uttered during a brief, shining moment of introspection, and almost muffled into obscurity admist the thick layer of mud and rooftop slime we had settled in, laying together in wait atop the adjacent roof of a store we were investigating.

We were part of a four man advanced sniping guard monitoring a large, seemingly long abandoned Home Hardware, checking out the place for stiffs or runners before we decided to make the call in to council on whether raiding it was worth the risk or not.

We needed the building supplies and tools and this was the only store like it in the area that hadn't already been looted. It was on the outskirts of a small town over fifty eight kilometres from the road to the Sanctuary, far outside the reaches of our territories. We were unfamiliar with the area and all of us were on edge. No one liked being this far way away from home, but at the same time, the new additions to the kitchens wouldn't just magically build themselves either.

We were on the only ones on the roof at the time; covering for the two that were slowly circling the building in the other truck, looking for possible break in's or any sign of the undead before we determined that the structure was safe for a recon entry.

And we didn't have long to wait, because as soon as the truck coasted to a stop, and Jared, an angry, and somewhat caustic young man that had lost his mother in a raid the previous winter cautiously stepped out from the passenger door, his gun raised and held rock steady across his slight shoulders, the sounds of breaking glass and an inhuman shriek broke the silence, as a long haired female exploded out of the window admist a splintering halo of broken glass.

Dressed in the store uniform, but barefoot, she regained her footing and swayed to her feet, her naked toes curling, digging unconcernedly into the shattered glass as she fell back to her haunches, a gutturally pitched growl rattling out from her rotting throat as she eyed down her prey. Her milky, dark stained eyes narrowing, mouth all but slavering as she got Jared in her sights, her body coiled, as though paused in the moment before the strike, her hands already stretching outwards, anticipating the meal to come.

I watched the younger man critically. It was his first raid, and his first time on the outside since his mother and a score of ragged, half wild survivors had made their way up to us around the eleventh month after the invasion. _He had practically grown up in the Sanctuary_. He has always been a quiet, artistically gifted kid, and predictably he had been quickly scooped up and all but adopted into a whole mess of surrogate aunts, uncles, and grandparents when his keen intellect and boundless enthusiasm eventually grew to temper the elder's cynicism. He had never been violent, never hateful or vicious. In fact he had never shown any inclination of having harsh feelings towards anyone, or anything thing in the near eight years he had lived with us.

Indeed as the boy had slowly grown into adolescence, Kirren had struggled to teach him even basic defence and gunmanship. Throughout the years Jared had continually shied away from the brutality that came with the training, abhorring the very feel of a gun against his fingers, despite Kirren's well meant, but somewhat fatalistic comments, worried that if the boy didn't steady up and find something to fight for, his first encounter with the undead would likely be his last.

The report had been depressing, but ultimately true. Jared was as mild mannered and as unassuming as they came..or _used_ to come at least.

_Now all the sensitive ones generally end up getting eaten._

The boy was a lover, not a fighter. It was plain to see. His talents were in shaping and creating things. _Beautiful things._ I had seen him wield a paint brush like it was an extension of his hand, the colors flowing, and blossoming so beautifully onto a page, or a scrap of canvas that the sheer sight alone was enough to make you want to cry.

_It was hard to believe that the world could still be seen, and rendered so beautifully.._

But after his mother hadn't come back home, there had been no more paintings. No more drawings or sketches.. And Abby had found his paint brush, the one he had originally arrived with, broken into splinters in the courtyard the next morning.

Ever since that day, he surged headlong into his training, volunteering for guard shifts and seemingly determined to prove himself, and earn a spot on a raiding team. It seemed as though it was his own unique way of coping.

Now I wasn't sure whether to be worried, or relieved.

_"Those who fail to learn history are doomed to repeat it; those who fail to learn history __correctly__ are simply doomed."_ Kirren recited softly, looking upon the scene in front of us with notable distain and tight lipped tension. The words might have seemed offhand, or even flippant if I hadn't known him any better. But inwardly I was shocked. This was Kirren's equivalent of wanting to punch a wall.

I turned to him, only to find that he wasn't even looking at me, instead his eyes were fixed upon Jared, taking in the angry, vicious, careless way he held the walking corpse, keeping it still squirming and quivering, speared like a fish on a lancelet for a long moment, a sneer curling his lips before quite deliberately grinding his boot heel in to the fiends tattered chest. Daringly, and really quite needlessly, Jared had not even bothered to shoot the thing, opting instead to spear it through the forehead with his self constructed bayonet style device, having strapped a Marine K-bar long knife to the end of his long barrel Remington 1100.

I couldn't really blame him.

I understood that anger. Hell, we had all been there ourselves. Some days the anger was all we had, all we knew, all we could breathe. It was what enabled us to get from one day to the next, carrying that aching, burning torch with us as we did, letting it spit fire into our veins and fuel our bodies just so we could stand fit to face a new day.

But as we all know, on at least some level, that same anger is also a sort of slow poison. It will keep you going, keep you focused and sane when nothing else could, but at the same time, if you let it, it could also take away one of the most important, precious parts of ourselves, a part that even today we can still call our own, _**our humanity**_.

Feeling fiesty and wanting to encourage what had been the first thing that had come out of the man's mouth in over forty five minutes, I remember turning to him. Cocking my head and lowering my sunglasses down my nose so I could view him properly, I was quick to reply.

"And just what historical mistake is Jared in danger of committing?" I questioned lightly, watching through the reflection of his own sunglasses, as my smile widened, a few stray curls twirling free around my neck, wild refugees from the pile clipped atop my head and out of the way, the thickness straining against even the large metal clip.

But Kirren only favoured me with a slight smile, notable only in it's simplicity before turning his gaze back to the scene before us, gesturing forward with a minute movement of his rifle as we silently watched as Jared shoved the limp form aside, an ugly snarl curling his young lips as he wiped the rife knife unconcernedly across the frayed, tattered remains of the corpses shirt.

Inexplicably, my chest had tightened at the sight. And my eyes narrowed as the young man stalked back over to the truck, getting a silent nod from the others before advancing on the window again, not even attempting to avoid the corpse as his boot heel came down viciously across one the fiend's out stretched hands. And I winced as the sound of snapping finger bones echoed out hollow and brittle in the forced silence. There was an old saying about disgracing the dead..I had just never known it could be done so literally.

"_**Pick one."**_ Kirren had muttered, and had left it at that.

And to this day, I am still not sure if he was really referring to Jared, or to humanity as a whole. But either way…I suppose it still applies. And I suppose that in itself is the reason for the phrase. Because lets face it…in a strange, messed up way we were making all the same mistakes all over again.

_Only this time it was in the name of survival instead of greed, and hatred instead of difference._

Shaking my head I banished the thought from my mind, but despite my efforts, while Jared's twisted sneer did gradually fade away, the look upon Kirren's face in that moment did not. Nor did the feeling of his body pressed along mine. Forcing me to wonder just when it had become so necessary for those on sniping duty to lie so closely together?

But I never said a word. Scared that if I did, he might actually move..

_It had been like that with us for a long time…It was as though the more years that past, the more boundaries we broke between us. Pushing, tentative…and curious, but pushing each other none the less. But pushing towards what?_

'Snap out of it. It's not what you think. He doesn't want you..not like that.' I snarled inwardly, shaking my head again as if by sheer force I could rid my head of the way his utility belt had brushed awkwardly along my flank, clunking heavily and tangling slightly as it brushed against my own. Or the way some long, half forgotten part of me could actually sense the clear, streamlined length of him as he settled down along my side, even right down to the way the muscles in his legs seemed to periodically tense, then release when I would shift against him, opting for a better angle or a more comfortable position as my thigh or hip would accidentally brush against his own.

I admit sometimes I did it purposefully. Just to hear that shift..just to hear the way he seemed to momentarily stop breathing, as if he didn't even _dare _to breathe. _It thrilled me_. I did it for a lot of selfish, greedy reasons. Greedy for the sound his breath made as it whispered tensely through his half clenched teeth. Greedy for the pure warmth of him that would eventually begin to seep through his clothes and leech into mine. I even did it for the sharp musk that would inevitably rise on occasions such as this, with that scent that I had never really been able to define melding addictively with his already distinctive smell. _Greedy._

But he had never moved away, or even shifted to give me more space. Not once.

'Kirren had had a wife, a _family._ How could _you_ ever hope to compete with _that_?' I remembered thinking, my thoughts turning dark and self loathing as I forced his image from my mind. Telling myself rather pointlessly that it was useless to dwell on what I could never have.

_Too bad I had never really made a habit out of listening to my own advice._

As I drove farther and father out of our territory and into the open lands that lay beyond it, lands that are thus far unclaimed or unoccupied by any other roaming band or surviving group, my attentions switched to a whole other level of heightened observation. During the past year we had come to find that it wasn't outwardly unusual to complete a full survey of our holding and not come across a single stiff.

**We still aren't sure about what is going on. **

We have been theorizing that the bulk of the hordes have been migrating out, bypassing us completely in favour of roaming from city to city. However, at the same time there has been no indication from our various contacts on the radio of any vast moving hordes. But regardless, whatever the cause, _we_ certainly aren't complaining! It certainly made for a more peaceful, albeit it tense way of living..

_I know I wasn't the only one waiting for the other shoe to drop.._

Though, the point of the matter was, as empty as the landscape had been on my journey thus far, I was very much aware that the same likelihood probably didn't hold true in the more dense populated urban centers that dotted my route home.

And the very crux of the matter was that I _**should**_ have cared more about that fact. I_ should_ have cared more about the risks I was taking, or the likelihood that I would even make it there alive.. _But I didn't._

Instead, I floored the pedal, grinding it thoughtlessly down against the rusted metal floor, refusing to even grimace as the motor roared, echoing defiantly…_recklessly_ into the fragile morning stillness.

..I had stopped caring the day I had buried the closest thing I had had left to a family. _Thor._


	68. Chapter 68

**All standard and previously stated disclaimers apply. Please see previous chapters for ratings, warnings, and other information.**

**A/N #1:** Hey guys, now more then ever I need your comments, constructive criticism and reviews. We are nearing the home stretch and I need your feed back. You guys keep me writing with your comments and constructive criticism!

**A/N #2:** _**Tra**_ hopefully you eventually see this. Thanks for the review I just received, you reviewed from chapter 25 so you have a while yet to go, but I hope you stick with it and eventually see this. I have returned to the story after a long, long absence. But now I am obviously I am still here and am definitely in this for the long haul! Thanks for your comments! I am currently fiddling around with the latest chapter as I sip my morning java and pick at some soggy cereal (URGH work) so that review really gave me a boost!

**A Nightmare Walking - Chapter 68**

It was only when dusk was grudgingly beginning to fall that I found myself forced to make a decision.

_**Drive on through the night or find a safe place to hole up till morning?**_

Worrying my lower lip between my teeth I peered out into the slowly darkening sky, getting partially blinded for my trouble by the angry red rays of the sinking sun. Frustration gript me, and not for the first time I cursed the fact that with the infection had come a number of serious limitations, especially when applied to night time travel. I didn't like the fact that nowadays the nights darkness meant death and certain danger. It made be feel hemmed in, confined, controlled, _caged…_

But I squashed down the feelings as best I could, not wanting my judgement in _this_ matter to be clouded by the almost desperate need I was fighting..the need to keep moving. _To keep ahead of whoever, or whatever was out there behind me._

_I might have been emotionally unstable, but I certainly wasn't stupid._

If I was being completely honest, neither choice was particularly appealing, nor entirely advisable, especially when one was traveling alone. Driving on through the night seemed much more attractive seeming as though I was already trundling along the roads already. But I knew as soon as the sun went down, the only advantage I would have against the world were a set of flood head lights that broadcasted my position for miles through the sporadic tree line and an old, ornery engine that hadn't had a professional tune up for years.

Snarling internally I yielded to my unspoken thoughts and pulled off to the side of the road, cutting the engine abruptly as I listened to the lingering propane-fuelled purrs as the engine underneath me slowly simmered down to a halt.

_Shit._

Drumming my fingers impatiently on the steering wheel I surveyed the forested landscape around me. I was on a deep country road, with a dozen acres or more of farming or rancher-like properties. Mostly there was only a small, dirt hewn or worn gravel path leading out from the road that indicated there were any houses out here at all.

Things looked quiet..and since I had taken a short cut off the highway and along this little known switchback, neatly avoiding one of the two major cities between myself and my final destination, there had barely been an indication that the world had ended at all, save for the occasional herd of partly feral, free ranging cattle. And in one notable instance the rust covered skeleton of an old John Deere tractor, its front end crushed blackly against a thick-trunked maple, the driver's seat cushion shredded, and twirling limply in the light breeze. As though someone had initially attempted to render the very seat off the machine itself rather then simply stop at reaching for the human morsel sitting within it.

_Even close to a decade after it had likely happened the scene still screamed a sort of senseless, vicious, gut-rending brutality that still had the power to turn my stomach. _

I took a long measured swig from my water bottle, closing my eyes at the cold, mineral rich tang of it as it slid easily down my throat. I had to make a decision, and soon.

Thinking quickly I cast an eye over at the glove box, deftly unhooking the snaps and swinging it open without unsnapping my seatbelt as I leaned over and dug through it.

Despite the fact that our territorial bounds had long since past that didn't mean that we didn't maintain safe houses all over the Okanagan valley. Our raids and travels sent us all over the valley and through out the years we had found it prudent to keep small safe havens stretched out across the map. Just in case.

So, that being said, just because I wasn't familiar with this particular area didn't mean there wasn't a safe house somewhere close by that we had set up. And wasn't it just ironic that I need one now?

Finally locating the proper map, I spread it out over the dash and steeling wheel and perused the area. Scrunching up my nose in distaste as the scent of burning gasoline met my nostrils. Something, somewhere, was burning. I couldn't see the smoke, and that probably that unnerved me the most.

You didn't usually smell burning gas anymore. It was too precious a commodity to leave unguarded or untapped. These days gas was almost as vital as that air we all breathed. Something bad was happening somewhere…

_**My eyes darted from the road to the map, run or stay?**_

The darkening sky and the lightless roadway ahead of me seemed to make my decision for me. And I watched as the darkness seemed to tunnel towards me, rippling down through the tree line and advancing down upon me like a dark, sinister omen. _Fuck._

_**Stay.**_

Hole up, cover up, stay safe, and wait for daylight. I decided.

And it's funny when I look back on it now, how in that moment I had actually acted like I had control of that one simple choice in the first place.

_Control._ It's a loaded word these days. Not many people would admit it..not even then, and certainly not now. The infection hadn't just stolen our lives, our hearts, and our entire world. But it had also stripped from us whatever small, misguided assumptions we had had before, that we in some small way actually had control over our own destinies.

_Control of our lives, control over our decisions, control in what we did and what we decided not to do. It was all a farce because everything we do now is tempered by the fact that our world is no longer dominated by the human race. Not anymore._

Until this nightmare is over, until we retake what was once ours, the world is not really our own. _It's theirs._

Sure, I _could_ have decided to thumb my nose at prudence and fate and driven on through the night. Perhaps I might have even made it. Actually with the thus far unseen nature of the undead these days I probably would have.

In a way I had _control_ over that choice. But ultimately I never chose that. I decided to err on the side of caution. And in so doing, however reluctantly, the choice to hold up till morning was a choice created by the presence of the infected. It was a destiny that they had created by simply existing among us.

In a way, it was just another example of the loss of control, and how far the power of it had been removed from our grasp.

_**A/N:**_** Sorry about the lapse in posting a chapter last week, and for the shortness and lateness of this one! URGH. I suck. I was at a wedding last weekend and worked straight through this one. And I realized today as I looked at this chapter that it needed much more work then the hours that I have to actually dedicate to it today. Real life kinda stinks that way. Thus, I broke the chapter in two so I could at least post something today. Sorry guys!**


	69. Chapter 69

**All standard and previously stated disclaimers apply. Please see previous chapters for ratings, warnings, and other information.**

**A/N #1:** Hey guys, now more then ever I need your comments, constructive criticism and reviews. We are nearing the home stretch and I need your feed back. You guys keep me writing with your comments and constructive criticism!

**A/N #2:** Again with a short chapter, I sort of got caught up in small details here that really didn't connect with what I had planned for the rest of the chapter. Ha! Depending on how busy this Thanksgiving weekend is for me, I might get a second chapter posted. No promises, but I will make a valiant effort! – And on that note, Happy Thanksgiving to all my Canadian readers, I will be eating turkey in spirit with the best of you this weekend!

**A Nightmare Walking - Chapter 69**

By the time I had located a suitable place that was reasonably nearby I was in a race against the shadows. And as I finally turned onto the correct road I bared my teeth in nervous victory as the toppled over address picket glinted in the fading light.

Perhaps it was childish, perhaps it was a personal weakness of mine, or perhaps it harkened back to the times of early man when stumbling along in the darkness, away from the warmth and protection of a roaring fire meant almost certain death.

'_And look how far we have come since then.'_ I remembered thinking sarcastically. '_Here I am, just one more fool blundering along in the near dark. Looking for a place to make a fire.'_

Twirling the wheel I turned the tires onto the awkwardly angled drive way and cautiously pulled in. It was a fully gated property with a torso high fence following the gate from the road and directly into the bushes. Leaving the engine running I carefully jumped out, hurrying over to a pile of stones near the base of one of the poles and kicking them aside until I found the gate key.

_The map and instructions __**had**__ been accurate after all. Lucky me._

The place looked about as secure as it could be, considering the circumstances. This was as good as it was going to get this late in the day at any rate I decided, pivoting quickly on my heel, and swinging myself back into the cab of the truck with barely a noise of exertion, long used to having to haul myself up into the oversized vehicle.

I down shifted with difficulty, wrestling with the stiff stick shift before the truck finally began creeping up the long gravel driveway, watching expectantly as the forest gradually gave way to empty fenced in pasture, the property still looking remarkably sturdy and well kept considering the passing of the years.

Someone from the Sanctuary must have being doing some up keep here in the past few years. _Thank god._

When I had located this place on our maps I had expected it to be an old style rancher. One of those small, old 'Mom and Pop' type places where the folks had decided to spend their golden years after retirement. Indeed outwardly it had all the markings of one, right down to the thick, rough hewn log deck and railings that spanned the houses exterior, and the hobby style sheds that pockmarked the backyard in the same rustic style.

Inside however, it turned out to be an entirely different story. It was modern, obviously retrofitted and renovated throughout the years until it had met with its last owner's expectations.

And if the place hadn't been languishing under eight years or so of dust it might have almost been posh.

I did a long, thorough sweep of the house, inspecting it from top to bottom, leaving no door, closet, nor shadowed corner unchecked, despite the fact that I doubted that any member of the undead had ever actually been here, or anywhere near the property.

_It was too remote, too silent, and too pristine. Death hadn't come here. Yet._

Making long skidding tracks through the dust covered hardwood I made my way back towards the kitchen, passing through a knick-knack littered living room. And in spite of myself, my feet slowly came to a halt as my eyes were drawn towards the wall that held a large, ornate wood fire place.

The entire wall was a chaotic, but artful mess of framed photographs. I had never seen such a large assortment meshed together like this in one place before, and the sight alone was more then a bit overwhelming.

It was almost as if I had stumbled upon a rift in time, where from this spot, and this spot alone I could see back to the beginning of two separate peoples lives, all the way back through the years until those two separate lives became one.

I felt like a voyageur. I felt as if I were connected to them in some strange disconnected way as my eyes flickered from one photograph to the next. The documentation of a life..of two peoples lives.

My unknowing hosts had been a younger couple, no older then their early thirties according to the photographs. And even as my eyes looked upon all this life..all this _love.._ It struck me that there was so much more that_ could_ have filled this wall, so many more moments to document, so many more memories of what _could_ have been..

It was all there, their lives. I saw it all as if I had been there and had experienced those times with them. There was the first meeting, with warm brown doe eyes glancing through long bangs over at messy tawny hair and childish, oversized glasses from opposite sides of an elementary school picture.

There had been the first date, high school prom, the first car, and the first day of college. And as the photographs continued on and the people in them grew older, fingers intertwined and hands clasped tight throughout, their smiles grinned back at me from their university graduations, their first apartment, their first house, even their first pet, a scrawny, little bean pole of a hound with an wide doggy grin and a brand new leather collar, the dog tags attached inscribed with the name of 'Hope'.

And as I looked closer at the background of that photo I realized that it was the house in which I was standing now. _This_ had been their first home.

Their wedding photo's made up the center mass of the surrounding photographs, lending importance, whether intentionally or accidentally to this central day in both their lives. And I relived it as they smiled back at me, their faces looking remarkably the same, still bright, happy, and open. And for a moment I could see that stringy banged, doe eyed youth looking back at me from the eyes of the dark haired, dimpled young bride, just as easily as I could make out that messy haired, glasses wearing boy smiling back at me from the eyes of the equally shaggy haired groom.

Like the other photographs they were caught in a moment, frozen in time. Never to age or die, or even fade, and yet all too easily forgotten when there was no one left to appreciate the people and the emotions they had shared.

_Together in that moment… Together then, together now… Together in a way that seemed to transcend time._

They had been happy. _In love._ You could see it in every photograph, in every note that was still stuck on that dusty, stainless steel fridge just one room over. It was a new love, untested, but unshakeable. They had only just started out. _Together_. And vaguely, before I forced myself away, my hand curled, clenched in tight fist at my hip as I struggled to contain the snarl threatening to curl my lips, as in a long underused part of my heart, I hoped that when their ends had come, they had been able to face it together, and not alone.

_Like they had been meant to. _

It was fully dark by the time I was able to tear my gaze away from the growing shadows, shaking myself as if from a daze as my gaze followed the darkness as it flickered and licked along the edges of the pictures like fire does to the wood in it's hearth.

And vainly, I tried to ignore the inexplicable feeling of loss that flashed through me as I forced my feet from the room and moved with empty purpose back towards the kitchen.

_**No more distractions. Nothing. You know where you have to go..**_

But it didn't really matter which room I went. They were_ still_ there. They _still_ lived here. The past was the present in this house, more so then any place or home I had ever taken shelter in throughout the days, weeks, months, and years after the outbreak. And in that way, I knew, that if such a thing as ghosts were too exist in this world, it would be in places such as _this_ that they would haunt.


	70. Chapter 70

**All standard and previously stated disclaimers apply. Please see previous chapters for ratings, warnings, and other information.**

**A/N #1:** Hey guys, now more then ever I need your comments, constructive criticism and reviews. We are nearing the home stretch and I need your feed back. You guys keep me writing with your comments and constructive criticism!

**A Nightmare Walking - Chapter 70**

Regardless of my security measures and the near pristine condition of the safe house I still felt uncomfortable. I didn't feel secure, nor even a small measure of safety. I felt poised on a triggers edge, waiting for the click that heralds the coming of the bullet. _Waiting._

I was perpetually on edge at every sound, nervous at the open space after so many hours alone in the confined cab of the truck. This place was unfamiliar to me; I didn't know it like I knew the Sanctuary. There were far too many unknowns here..too much space, too many possibilities for entry. _Dangerous._

And perhaps, after having lived together, in growingly cramped conditions for close to ten years with over a hundred other people, having eventually learned to take comfort in the unique press of countless other people at any given hour of the day, it was a bit too _empty_ as well.

_Empty, silent, still.. Something the Sanctuary never was._

I suppose in the end, what it all boiled down to was that I wasn't used to being alone. _Not anymore._ Since meeting up with Dan, Thor, Rachel, Joe, and the twins all those years ago, I had never really been alone. Being alone in the world these days was dangerous, an eventual death sentence. That is why the Sanctuary exists after all, where we find our strength and safety in trust, cohesion, love, and of course, numbers.

_But here I probably would have been better off trying to nap in the truck for Christ sakes!_

Taking a long, steadying breath I forced myself to ignore my discomfort. Habitually double checking my handgun as I made my way down the hall to see where I could bed down for the night.

I bypassed the master bedroom for the smaller room off to the right, though not for any noble, lingeringly sympathetic reasons that you might think. I can assure you that it was an entirely self serving action. The master bedroom was a mess of wall length windows and sliding glass doors, with an on suite bathroom that led to a dead end, having only a single window small enough that it might have trapped Abby, even with her thin, rail thin frame inside.

Instead I chose the guest bedroom at the very end of the hall. It was easy to enter but the last room that someone would come across if they entered the house from the front entrance. It held a double bed and an attached office that had only one mid-sized window that was oriented high enough up along the wall to make me feel a measure of complacency. But the real deal breaker was that it had the bonus of containing a ceiling access crawl space that led straight into to the attic, and from the attic a clear, if not steep path down the roof.

_Viola, instant escape route._

Finally appeased I dumped all my gear but my gun belt and holster, cracked a window and lit my oil lantern, before wandering curiously back to the kitchen. Because as tired as I was, I knew I wasn't going to be getting to sleep any time soon.

Disinterested in the scant rations I had managed to pilfer before I had left the safety of home I set about nosing through the seemingly unending cupboards and drawers.

Clunking and clattering around until I had located the proper cupboards and set about rooting out something somewhat appetizing, that hadn't already been liberated in one of our raids.

As a rule our safe houses were generally stocked with a limited food and resource supply cache in case of emergency. And for the sake of making things easy, most times such resources were simply made up of what had already been stocked the house to begin with.

_It's funny, but you can tell a lot about a family by what they keep in their cupboards.._

Pushing aside some cans of condensed soup, I dug deep into the far recesses of the cupboard, my fingers skittering long wavering tracks through the thick dust, jumping and jerkily by-passing the skeletons of long dead spiders and the feathery husks of other hapless insects before my fingers finally closed around something rather…curious.

Slowly bringing it out into the low, flicking lamp light, I couldn't help but arch an eyebrow when my hand reappeared wrapped around a dusty old glass can of preserved peaches.

_Rare._

Whoever had cleaned out this place to restock the Sanctuary's lauders must have missed a can. Either that or some kind soul had decided to purposefully leave such a wholesome treat behind for some hapless wanderer like myself to stumble across.

_Either way I certainly wasn't complaining._

Fruit, especially preserved fruit was a priceless and admittedly delicious commodity, especially during the winter months when we didn't have even the berries and the occasional wild apples groves to rely on.

_Thus it was rare that we ever had fruit in any great abundance._

We had heard rumours of the flowering orchards farther down the Okanagan valley that apparently still blossomed and bore countless tons of fruit every season. And the way that the solo travelers and small roving groups that we had come across throughout the years spun the stories, the very tree's themselves now grew with warp trunks, as though permanently bowed under the sheer weight of their own fruit laden branches.

But for the most part we unfortunately did not get to enjoy such a luxury, as the majority of the orchards near our holdings had burnt down close to eight years ago in the great brush fire that had entirely destroyed the closest town south of us.

The forces of nature had cut a vicious, fiery swath straight through the very heart of the community of man, reclaiming the land as its own. For weeks afterward, once the fire had finally burnt itself out and we dared to venture close enough to survey the damage, the air had smelled of burnt apples, singed earth, and cedar ash. So much so that almost every breath you took tasted of the tart over ripe flavour of singed fruit. It had been a heady and somewhat overpowering scent that seemed to get into everything, your clothes, bedding, hair, even your food for weeks afterwards.

Nowadays such a find was something to cherish, hoard, and eventually savour. It was something to bring out to celebrate a special occasion or a significant event, or perhaps even just to share together with the one who warms the thin mattress beside you, just as surely as they do your abused heart.

_But I had no such person to share it with. No one to call my own and whisper my secrets hopes and dreams to in the bare lamp light. No one to feed each juicy slice to until they felt all but drunk with the heady rush of natural sugars, high with the rush until you took them in hand and rolled with them in the blankets until you were both exhausted._

I broke the seal quickly with one deft flick of my wrist, casting aside the rim and lid before dunking an eager finger into the thick liquid.

It had been a long time since I had any fruit. The fruit we had been able to harvest the past season had been notably scarce in comparison to the year before.

Tasting tentatively, half expecting the rancid sour taste of preserved fruit that had gone bad with time, I was surprised by the sweetness of the syrup as it burst tangy, whole, and sugary-sweet across my tongue

Slurping nosily in unconscious enjoyment I ignored the dusty table and chairs in favour of sliding down the wooden cupboards that lined my back, choosing the area under the sink as a back rest, and facing the front door directly as I dug into the delicious treat, scissoring my fingers through thick liquid enthusiastically as I plucked out a few peach slices.

'_God that's good…'_ I thought, allowing my eyes to close momentarily in sugar coma bliss as I took a swig of the chunky fruit syrup right from the lip of the jar.

I sighed deeply, I almost snorted into the jar with sudden mirth as I recalled the last time I had eaten homemade peaches like this, one's canned _before_ the infection. I don't remember the date, or even the exact month, but I do remember how the day had been uncommonly hot, something that had been only doubled by the fact that both my mother and father had spent the better part of the day canning a large box of peaches my Aunt had brought with her when she had visited.

At the end of the long, broiling off day, Mom had served them warm, and freshly canned, with the thick, juicy slices that she had drizzled over vanilla ice cream melting slowly into the iced treat, melding the favours together with a delicious twist of both warm and cool sensations as each bite slid easily down your throat.

Readjusting my position I brought my knees up closer to my chin, feeling safety in the way my body tightened into itself, muscles flexing unbidden as I shook my head minutely, as if I could simply shake my head of the memories.

_In the end, it was the little things that broke you._

The cracking of a tree branch outside seemed echoingly loud admist the stillness, and I jumped at the sudden sound, holding my breath for a long moment as I fingered my gun, listening closely.

And even though I knew better, I double checked the safety, the stock sliding with comforting familiarity along the skin of my open palm, even as the sugary syrup dried up in my throat, scoring the roof of my mouth with the rough husks of leftover sugar crystals.

After a long, tense moment I screwed the lid back on the jar and crept softly over to the shuttered window. Peering carefully out through the bottom shutter I cocked my head as my ears chased the sound.

…Likely an animal..

And even through the tension was still thick enough to choke on, after a few long moments I gradually relaxed and let my handgun slip back into its holster, fingering the unfastened snaps that I deliberately left undone.

_Some people used to call it paranoia. Now it was called using your head._

It was well past twelve by the time I finally allowed myself to relax, retreating back to the guest room and blocking the door with a heavy couch as I closed myself in, making sure the stack of chairs I had constructed earlier in order to boost myself up to the crawl space hatch was still sturdy enough to use if there came a need to use my emergency plan.

In a few quick, efficient movements I stripped off the old, dust coated bedding and laid out a spare duvet from the equally as dusty closet, holding back a sneeze as the dust motes twirled lazily around in the lamp light, spinning around in chaotic vortices until they passed slowly out of the light and disappeared entirely, swallowed by the darkness.

Bed remade, I switched the lantern off to its lowest setting, and pulled the drapes closed around the windows just in case some wandering stiff saw the light and got adventurous.

Pulling back the covers I wiggled down fully dressed, ignoring the slightly gritty feel of dust and dirt as my clothes met the clean, if not stale smelling sheets.

'_Spoiled'_ I remember thinking.

And I was. Living at the Sanctuary had spoiled us all. We had created a good thing in a world where it often seemed like everything good had died at the same time the majority of world's population had.

We had it good at the Sanctuary. We were protected; we had hot food and three square meals a day. Hell we even had running water, and for the most part, some semblance of electricity. But what was more, was that we had devised a method of governing, a system of law and order, and a slowly growing agricultural project.

Indeed we even had ambitious plans for the future. And save for a few sporadic rumours of a few far flung groups of surviving service men on the occasional military base, as far as we could tell, we figured we were probably the best set up group in over three provinces. _Or that we knew of anyway.._

We weren't just surviving anymore.. For the most part, we were _living…_ **Living!**

It's easy to forget the beginning, or at least to block it from your waking thoughts. But ultimately, we all remember what those first few weeks on the road were like. Poised on a knife edge for the second shoe to fall, uncertain of what lay ahead, feeling unprotected, confused, frustrated, useless, and so desperately venerable.

However it is easy to forget those feelings when you are safe behind a high compound wall, surrounded by heat and light, and are hemmed in at all sides only by friends.

We had come to a point where we now knew with reasonable certainty when our next meal would come. We knew that the plumbing usually worked well enough for one solid shower every few days, and that once a week, if the well pumps were in prime condition we could collectively wash our clothes.

I suppose as time had gone on, we had gradually come into the luxury of not just surviving, but living. _Living._ While beyond our walls we knew that the scattered remnants of humanity slit each others throats in the darkness just for enough gasoline to fill their tanks, or food to stuff into their hollowed bellies.

I missed electricity. I missed hot food. I missed heat. But perhaps most of all I missed the security of the Sanctuary, the walls, the alarms and fencing, and most primarily, the people who made it so.

…_Christ…_I _**was**_ spoiled..

Grimacing at myself I settled back under the thick covers, watching the dark, half shadowed shape of my reflection as it reflected back at me from across the dark grey television set. And for a long time I simply watched as the shadows played along the lines and angles of my face, turning the healthy young skin, gaunt and almost frightening in the near dark.

And as I finally slipped off to sleep, my last few conscious thoughts were spent wondering if the home in which I sought to return…to _**regain**_ would even look like the home that I left? Or that if my family, had they been alive today, would even recognize me now?

_Would they be proud? Would they understand? Would they still love me the same way after knowing everything that I have done? Everything I have __**had**__ to do?_

…_Would they?..Could they?_

God..what child should have to ask that of their parents? How fucked up has our world become that in order to survive I have had to do things that I had been taught since infancy were _wrong_. What child should have to sit and wonder as I do now, if their parents would still love and respect them if they knew what things their own flesh and blood has had to commit in order to simply stay alive?

These questions in my case were all too valid. I had bitten, scratched, and clawed my way out of more fucked up situations then I would care to admit. I have done things I am not particularly proud of.. Done things that have made me sick to my stomach, and sent me retching like a newbie behind one the trucks after their first kill. I have done things that keep me up most nights, wondering what I _could_ have done.. _Wondering_.

I am not going to lie to _**you**_..to history..to whatever is to be our future. I am alive today because I have killed. I have maimed, crippled, and abandoned. I am alive today at the expense of others. I am alive_ today_ because of the choices I have made, the choices others have made for me, and for the choices made by fate.

And while my thoughts moved on, plunging me into the vastness of my own insecurities and fears, I was very much aware that I had never found an answer to that question.

…Because some days, especially in the days since I had lost _him,_ I know that half the time didn't even recognize _myself_ when I looked in the mirror anymore.


	71. Chapter 71

**All standard and previously stated disclaimers apply. Please see previous chapters for ratings, warnings, and other information.**

**A/N #1:** Hey guys, sorry I suck! I know I haven't updated in like…FOREVER. I have been (and still am) busy with Graduate Applications for my Master degree. I will be done them by the New Year, so expect regular updates to begin again around that time! Again, sorry about the gap in updating, I can assure you it is just as frustrating to me as it is to you!

*And just because I feel so bad, here is an extra long chapter for you. SEE I STILL LOVE YOU.

**A/N #2:** (_Possible spoilers_) A number of you have been private messaging, and if I remember correctly, reviewing, asking for my opinion on AMC's new series "The Walking Dead." In all honesty I have to say I **absolutely adore it!** The emotional depth and character driven nature of the plot has in only a mere six episodes, not only deeply immersed me in the nature of the show, but has also gotten me emotionally invested in the characters as well. An aspect which I find is a rarity in the horror genre today. I am not going to mention any specific moments out of respect for anyone that has yet to see the entirety of the first season, but I will comment vaguely on a few things. I am hugely looking forward to the future of Dale and Andrea's relationship; I think the age gap between them is very telling of the situations and relationships that the Zombie Apocalypse could thrust people into. Much like Ashley and Kirren in my story! (Though not to the same extent, as I am thinking Andrea is late 30s and Dale is late 50's) **Favourite Characters: **While this show hosts a wide variety of good, strong characters that I like for a myriad of different reasons, if I had to name two, they would go as follows: **Glenn: **To put it simply I adore him, but at the same time I also identify with him. His reactions to things, to the things he feels he needs to do, seem to mirror what I feel I might do if thrust into the same situation. He is also the youngest of the group save for the two children, a young adult from what my research shows, so it is interesting to see a point of view from someone closer to my age frame as he tries to survive. Now my other favourite character, who is also quickly becoming my primary favourite, might seem like an odd choice to some of you, but I will leave that up to you to decide…is **Daryl. **He fascinates me! I sense a lot under the surface with this character. And a lot of it that indicates a truly good, if not slightly tarnished man underneath. Not to mention, he seems the best adjusted to what is taking place around him, the most clear headed about what the world has changed into and what must be done in order to survive. (Which I think brings a very significant and valuable asset to the group's survival. Plus he is totally bamf with that crossbow!) What do you guys think? Interviews I have read/watched with the actor discussing his character all seem to indicate an emotional depth to the character and primary spot on the team regardless of the fact that this character was created primarily for the show, and did not appear in the comics. I am very excited to see what the second season brings for Daryl! To conclude this MASSIVE chunk of text… (Wow! Sorry, I guess you can tell that I really, really like this show eh!) I strongly feel that this show has begun making strong inroads to revitalizing the Zombie genre, which I feel has begun to suffer somewhat in the last few years or so. (*cough cough* Remake of the Land of the Dead anyone? Or..*ahem* Resident Evil Afterlife! URGH) If anyone wants to discuss this, pm me and we can have a Walking Dead debate!

**A Nightmare Walking - Chapter 71**

I was startled out of bed not four hours later, chilled underneath a thick suffocating layer of sweat soaked sheets. I don't remember actually falling asleep, but I know that I did, because it was the echoes of my own heartbroken cries that woke me, bouncing tauntingly off the darkened walls and hidden corners of the room like accusations. Remnants of a nightmare I was distinctly glad I could not remember.

Breathing hard I dug my boot heels into the soft mattress and propped myself up along the headboard, my back resting comfortably against the small mound of dress pillows I had tossed to one side as I had prepared for bed.

Yawning I rubbed at my eyes, scrubbing my hands over my face as nervous exhaustion seeped like toxins from my pores. Feeling slightly ridiculous I forced myself to shake off my disquiet, pausing as I listened off-handedly to the sound of the wind hushing through the eaves above, flirting softly with the willow branches outside until they clacked gently across the window pane.

_The world still spun. Life kept on going._

Blowing out frustrated breath I made a face into the darkness, shaking my head at my own foolishness. I am not sure why I had almost expected any differently. I had lost people before, more people then I care to remember in fact. It is simply a facet of this new, nightmarish world that we all live in, albeit it a brutal one. But this had been different. Thor had been different. Perhaps he shouldn't have been in the scheme of things…Is one persons life worth more then another's simply because they are more important to you?

I am not sure if I even wanted to know the answer to that. My mind dealt enough in guilty and accusations these days.

Nowadays death is a very literal thing. It is no longer a concept that manifests itself solely with old age, accident, or some terminal medical condition. Now it shuffles endlessly down the trash strewn streets of our cities. It thrashes and beats its fists through our walls and doors, through our barricades and fences, growling and hungry as it screeches for our blood like the devil dogs of the Grim Reaper himself.

And despite what we might say publicly, each and every one of us has thought about how we might die. _**In this world how could we not?**_ Hell I would even wager that at least everyone on the active mission rosters at the Sanctuary has a preferred way to go.

I know I do.

Most people have a pact. A longstanding, mutual agreement with their friends and family so they can go about their business assured that if they are bitten, at least a handful of people will make sure that they are properly dealt with. Most people take comfort in the fact that regardless of the situation, or the players involved that they will be effectively put down, killed _**properly**_ to ensure that they can rest eternally.

Strange how something like ones view of death can be so irrevocably altered. With the arrival of infection, the line between life and death became blurred and uncertain. And we were forced learned the hard way that there are some things out there that are _worse_ then dieing, _worse_ then the uncertainty of death.

Believe what you want about what lies after death. Maybe there_ is_ a heaven. Perhaps there is _nothing_. Maybe all there really is…is a great cosmic dark where life and awareness simply blips out into nothingness the moment your failing heart stops beating. Or perhaps there is something more, something so vast and _other worldly_ that we can't even begin to comprehend it.

_Who's to know?_

But regardless of what you might believe or subscribe to, the _uncertainty_ of what lies beyond remains. And before the infestation, I think _**that **_was the most pressing concern people had about dieing. Sure there was the idea of pain, about what it feels like to feel yourself die. To feel awareness and vitality simply drain from your limbs, your heart beat echoing sluggishly in your ears as life slips slowly away, like water does in the sink, twirling around in chaotic, lazy spirals until, with a small gurgle it vanishes completely, with nothing left to indicate that _spark_ was ever there at all.

But when it all comes down to it, I think it was the uncertainty, the _not knowing_ that really got to people. But now _**that**_ has changed. Now most people would rather run the roulette of death, and face whatever is to come, rather then risk the horror of living death.

Because believe it or not, Hollywood actually got something right for once. There _**is **_something out there that is _worse_ then death.

A preacher visited the Sanctuary once, I say_ visited_ because he wasn't alive within our walls long enough to constitute having experienced anything more then a rather awkward dinner. As soon as word got out that the heavy set, and copiously sweating man that had arrived at our front gates, van radiator shot through with bullet holes and smoking like a chimney, was a man of God he had been quickly surrounded by the faithful, the confused, and the desperate.

At that time it had been only a few months since the infestation had turned our world upside down and spat it out all pear-shaped, and I admit that even I was initially grateful at the mere thought of a priest or preacher within out midst. So many of us were lost and looking for direction. We didn't just want answers and solutions, we wanted assurances. Assurances for those we had loved and inevitably lost. _Assurances that they were not damned…_Like so many dime a dozen quasi-sensational religious groups had been quick to proclaim as the dead's numbers grew and the infection spread.

_And I suppose assurances for us as well. For the future. For the hope that we still had a future._

He told us he had been shot at by raiders. And at first almost everyone had believed him. Come to think of it, he probably _had_ been shot at, only not for the reasons he had initially claimed.

He, unlike the vast majority of survivors we inevitably took in, was relatively well fed and clothed, so right away we knew he had to have come from somewhere that had been well stocked and decently organized. Nowadays no one remained on the more liberal side of plumb by just scavenging.

Despite the fact that along with his ratty old bible and the peeling, sun faded letters of "Cherryville Gospel Church" that were emblazoned across the side of his van, the man seemed all but legitimate, from the very beginning both Thor and I had shared a look. _Something wasn't right._

It wasn't just his twitchy demeanour that caused us to take notice, it was the way his eyes roved around, seeming to catalogue and categorizing everything they fell upon, especially the people, but perhaps more specifically, the _women_.

He had been putting off more bad vibes then a microwave full of cracked, mercury filled thermometers.

Thor had known. I had known. And of course, _Kirren_ had known. How could he not? The man didn't miss a trick. It was one of those endearing yet irritating things about him that made my stomach squeeze into knots and my hands form tight defensive fists.

And so, when the time came, and the dusk found the three of us slipping out one by one from the shadows of the courtyard, circling closer around the weather faded van. Somehow, none of us were really that surprised.

In the end it came down to waiting.

Waiting was always the worst. It left you with nothing else to do but let the suspense keep on building, while your nerves frayed and your fingers on a hair trigger, tense against the cool steel, while the taste of shot and bitter metal grew like fear on your tongue.

I remember that wait perhaps the best out of the countless other moments of tension and suspense I have struggled through in my life. I remember how in that age long moment, I suddenly felt drained, my countenance growing murky and battered as I faced just one more thing in my life that had been entirely, and irreversibly changed.

I can't really describe it, but it felt as if my emotions had just taken a sucker punch straight to the gut, and I remember how that heavy shot gun, with it's mahogany stock situated carefully in the cradle of my arms _wavered_.

I felt horrified, disgusted, terrified. I remember feeling scared to the very core by what our world had changed into, and by how much we were changing _with_ it. Morals? What was right? What was wrong? It felt like it had all suddenly just changed. Changed and felt us all behind, struggling to catch up and adapt before it was too late.

But most of all, I just felt _tired._

And for a long, desperate moment my gun barrel lowered.

Thor's eyes were busy tracking the shadows playing in the low light across the unsteady canvas the van's tan interior curtains and the shadows of the figures inside. But Kirren saw.

And for the first time since we had stared, slammed together, and eye to eye in the shadow strewn darkness of the grocery store in which we had first met, our mouths set in identical vicious snarls as our limbs flew spasmodically in the language of desperation and fear, his stone mask broke and I bore witness to his face soften.

I remember how magnetic that silence was, how impressive and suddenly calming it was to see his expression change.

He was giving me an out. A man that from all I could tell didn't trust a soul living on this earth, least of all me, was telling _me_ that it was alright..that I didn't _have_ to be here. For months I had been the very forefront of every decision, every moment, both good and bad, _everything_ because I knew I was _needed_. But here, right now, in this moment, this inscrutable, solitary man was giving me _back_ a part of myself that I hadn't realized I had lost.

_He gave me back the power to choose._

It was as if, for the first time since that tense and heartbreaking moment in Rachel's living room, where Dan had forced that old wooden shotgun into my sweaty palms and had told me that I had a job to do, I felt that I _could_ have been able to re-hostler my gun and simply walk away, secure in the knowledge that there was finally someone else, someone that could be intrinsically trusted to pull that trigger.

Of course I didn't. But the feeling, for what it was worth, remained. And I found that in spite of the tense situation before me, I knew now that I could handle it. That _we_ could handle it.

_Trust._

That was what _this_ feeling was. Trust in myself, trust in Thor, and most of all, trust in Kirren. Because despite my feelings for the man, all distant and immovable with his icy eyes, bold swagger, and aloof military training, I found myself being to _trust_ the damnable jerkoff.

Not that he trusted us any of us though.

But then again, it was hard to blame him, at that time he had only been with us for around eight weeks and trust was a loaded word.

I don't think he even trusted Thor or I yet. And we were the ones that had actually _found_ the man. Or maybe he found us… Jury was still out on that one depending on who you asked..

But that was besides the point I suppose, because he had been there in the background as the man had arrived, watching us watching the preacher from the sidelines. It would have been disconcerting if he hadn't been doing variations of the exact same thing for weeks previous. And to tell you the truth, by that point I had actually started to become accustom to it.

The man called himself Father Jonathan, yet to me he seemed to sweat insincerity. Maybe I was just jaded, but from the outset something about the man rubbed me the wrong way. From the very moment I had watched him unfold his doughy frame from the wrecked church van, his eyes shaded by dark sunglasses, his left wrist glinting garishly in the afternoon sun, bejewelled with what looked suspiciously like a real Rolex.

_What self respecting priest wore a gold plated Rolex anyway?_

The man reminded me of the trope of the used car sales man, oily and slick, able to impress and sway those around him without having to say much of anything at all.

And for a little while, despite his strange demeanour, ravings, and that bad feeling throbbing deep in my gut, I felt almost sacrilegious for thinking such a thing.

But then again, what man of God knowingly takes refuge in a city of Gods children when he was all too aware that he harboured the mark of a demon?

_Bastard._

But I decided at the time, despite what my gut was telling me, to give him the benefit of the doubt and I smartly swallowed my reservations. The people wanted to talk to him, to seek council and submerse themselves in prayer properly for the first time since the infestation had dawned.. Who was I to tell them they should not? Who was I to tell them this man was not to be trusted?

But of course that didn't stop me from haunting the sidelines of his first, and unsurprisingly _last_ prayer session, and in short order my suspicions were affirmed. I heard enough to know that whatever religion or world view that he subscribed to, I certainly didn't share it. And neither did most of the survivors either, because his audience grew smaller as his ravings grew louder and more accusatory.

He said that the day the dead rose up to feed upon the living was the day that harkened the oncoming apocalypse of humankind. He said that those that had died and turned upon the living were damned to walk the earth eternally, their souls lost, unable to find rest as their physical bodies tore into the warm flesh of their kin.

He said that we were next. He said it was _our_ fault, humanities fault. He said we had brought it on ourselves, through our wickedness and disbelief of a higher power then ourselves.

And despite the fact that I knew Kirren could see, I trembled with barely suppressed rage, the faces of my dead family and friends flashing through my mind like microfilm every time he spoke of the damnation of their souls, and the futility of hope.

_He made me want to vomit._

And in that moment I didn't care what Kirren might have thought of it. If showing my distaste and disgust of that slimy, abrasive man was a personal weakness, then I am glad I expressed it. I had lost my entire family to the infestation along with many of my friends. Hell, even my boyfriend! Their memories deserved better. _They deserved better._

But as it played out, it would seem that God, if he indeed exists, has his own way of dealing with things.

As that night, before the man retired, he managed to entice one of our more sentimental and impressionable young widows back to his van with the promise of a private counselling session.

Malary had been four months pregnant when the disease spread into her city, and while they had managed to escape the crowded suburban death traps and thickly populated cities, the strain became too much for her. She had lost her husband to an undead mob when they had tried to find a still functioning hospital. Malary had lost their first child, right there in the passenger seat of their sedan, biting her fist bloody trying to keep quiet, waiting trustingly for her husband to come back with a doctor.

Only he never came back.

She had been strong though, and had ducked down despite her condition, managing to avoid the undead's notice until she was able to slide into the driver's seat and peel wildly out of the parking lot. Her husband, or what was left of him, had been at the front of the pack that had chased her out of the Hospital parking garage and into the open streets.

Devotedly religious she was understandably distraught, especially after the man's tirade. And despite the quiet urgings of her friends, she had readily agreed to the traveling preachers offer.

_I swear he could smell the fragility of her.. Like a predator does when it scents its prey._

The bulk of us had agreed sometime earlier not to assign him quarters, hoping like I that he would leave the following day on his own steam. The van might even be salvageable, with Joe and Dave make noise that the radiator might be able to be swapped out and refitted with parts from one of the wrecks that dotted the highways far below. _Or so we had hoped anyway. _We weren't in the habit of turning away survivors, but there was something about him that unanimously set everyone's teeth on edge.

I had watched from the background as the preacher escorted her back to his vehicle, my teeth grating loudly as his meaty, sweat streaked arm came to rest familiarly along the small of her back. And when they had disappeared inside, their shadows illuminated by the light flickering of candle flame, I had slipped out the door, and kept watch, my gut screaming bloody murder.

Thor had joined me close to a quarter of an hour later, and I caught his gaze as I watched him unclip the snaps of the gun holster on his hip. _**Like me, he had somehow just known.**_

Call it luck, call it gut instinct, or intuition, but Thor shot him down, right between the eyes at point blank range the moment after Malary all but exploded out from the van's rear doors, screaming like a banshee as she hit the dirt running, hurling herself into my waiting arms as the freshly turned bastard made a clumsy lunge for her, tumbling from the back of the van and onto the ground, teeth gnashing and slavering mere inches from where her ankle had been.

Kirren had only watched, his gun retreating back into its thigh holster so quickly and so silently that I almost didn't catch the movement at all. His eyes were as unfathomable and as veiled as they always were, but I met them regardless over the top of Malary's head, the traumatized woman remaining oblivious to all else but her grief and panic as I held his gaze, carding my fingers through her short brown hair calmingly until I lost him in the shadows.

Sighing deeply at the memory, I rolled out of bed in sheer frustration. It would seem that while I had left the Sanctuary in body, my mind and soul had gotten lost in limbo, reaching back into the memories of the past as if to pull me back to the place that had been my home, **my** Sanctuary for nearly a decade.

_It was like an itch I couldn't scratch. Or a stubborn pebble in my shoe.._

My thick boot heels scuffed the carpet grey as I paced, restless yet exhausted around and around the room. I had left the Sanctuary for _a reason_, for a single purpose, and that purpose, that _reason had not changed_. I _needed_ to go home. I couldn't justify it; I couldn't explain it…I only knew that I had to.

_It was my gut again.. And over the years, I had learned to listen to it. Because sometimes that's all the warning you have before you turn the corner and find yourself almost nose to nose with a half a dozens stiffs in a dead end corridor. _

Through the near light I caught a shadowed glimpse of a series of pictures along the wall. Like throughout the rest of the house, these photos showed the same couple, sometimes sporadically posed among friends and family, but more often then not simply together.

Pausing to retrieve the lantern I held it up in front of me as I perused the collection, pausing here and there to look more closely as I followed the series of frames down the dusty, cobweb draped wall.

But the picture that really caught my eye was the one framed in dark cherry wood and placed centrally on the office desk clear on the other side of the room. It was a silly shot, slightly unfocused, and most definitely unprofessionally done, likely a spur of the moment click from some quick thinking friend or family member. But regardless, it's faded, and slightly rumpled state from behind the protection of the frame quickly identified it as a picture that was obviously very treasured.

The photo was blurred save for the close up faces of the couple, they took up most of the shot with their foreheads resting gently against the others, the position naturally bowing their heads downward as the curve of a pure, genuine smile flirted gracefully along the corners of their lips.

The picture spoke of two people deeply in love and entirely invested in each other. It was the perfect romance. The connection that most married couples could only dream of enjoying, and these two had had it since they were in braces.

_It was almost enough to make one jealous._

There had been a time when I had wanted the same things as they. _A career, a spouse, children.. A family. I had wanted a __**life**_, something that I could mould and shape and integrally call my own.

I remember how I had had it all planned out. I had wanted a career first, with a solid number of years devoted entirely to my profession before I gave any serious thought to children. But when I did I had already decided that I wanted two. I had figured at the time that two was a good, even number, whereas the genders weren't important, as long as they were both healthy.

The whole white picket fence scenario had never really appealed to me. As I knew even then, that life wasn't perfect, and that things don't always go according to plan, but at the same time I knew that I did want to create a family someday.

And I am sure that had been all _they_ had ever wanted as well, the chance to grow old and see if their love would stand the tests of time. To create a family and be given the opportunity to discover first hand that some things in this world _do_ last forever.

_But they hadn't even been allowed to have that. And in all likelihood, with the way this world was going, neither would I._

_But I had made my peace with that.._

I knew the odds. I knew the risks. And most of all, I knew with absolutely certainty that by just being a _survivor _I was living on borrowed time. Now, add that with the fact that I was now roaming freely outside the safety of the Sanctuary walls like some rookie with a chip on their shoulder… Well, lets just say that according to fate, I was all but dancing on top of my own grave.

Now that mental image might seem slightly superfluous, and very much dramatic, but hell! I had been living on borrowed time ever since I had woken up that morning, close to a decade ago, and found that the world I knew had been irrevocably, if not permanently altered.

Nowadays I would be content just to make it through another year alive, and considering the reality of today that was actually asking quite a lot. But I suppose, it was all one could really hope for these days, especially considering the alternative.

But in truth, that wasn't all of it. _Not really. _

_At least not for me. _

To have lived out here as long as I have, I have found that a person needs something beyond _just_ surviving; something _besides_ themselves that they believe is worth living for. Something that is worth pushing themselves through from one day to the next when there is no indication, nor even hint that the reality of our present might actually change.

_You need something that is worth the trouble of living._

It is something beyond themselves that merits pushing back just _that_ much harder, when they are backed into a corner and out of bullets, it is something that _makes_ them the dig out their last knife and fight back regardless, facing the odds straight on with ferocity and determination shining like a lit bulb clear across their face because they know that in the end, all their hardship, all their suffering and pain, was actually worth it.

For many this 'something' was indeed actually a _'someone'._ Often it is the people they have met and bonded with since the invasion, the people they have come to love and care for in a time when even the mere thought of love and romance can seem all but laughable. For some people it is the hope for a better future, for others the hope that they might someday cross paths with those they had lost in the panic and chaos of those early days. For many it, it came down to this, _this _impossible hope that some long lost friend or family member might have survived the like them.

And no matter how impossible the hope, it was things like this that kept us strong, giving us something to live for.

There were mothers that longed for their children, husbands that yearned for their wives, children for their parents, friends for their friends, siblings for their brothers and sisters...

For me, that something...that _**someone**_ _was _Kirren.

However, I had learned long ago that despite how hard we might fight for something, especially in this world, it is despairingly rare that we actually get it.

And in that way with Kirren, I suppose that as the years had progressed and my feelings for him had refused to wane or even begin to fade, I had simply resigned myself to the facts.

I had resigned myself to the knowledge that I could never have him, that he would never be mine to hold during those long nights, curled up together with our toes tickling each others calves. Growing almost too warm despite the night's chill, as the soothing burn of flesh on flesh seemed to heat the very air, turning it heavy with heat and sensuality. That he would never be mine to sneak covert kisses in the shadows of the hallways when we thought no one was watching, secretly thrilled by the thought of discovery.

Instead I had contented myself with what I did have. His respect, friendship, admiration, and long accustomed companionship. And for a long, long time I had deluded myself into thinking that that was all I really wanted.

I told myself that I should be grateful for what little of him. After all I had what I _could_ lay claim to. But the truth was.. I never was. I was selfish because I wanted it all. Everything he was, everything he had, everything he _could_ give. Everything I _couldn't_ have, I wanted it.

I wanted _him_. Hell, I think I even_ needed_ him. And man, wasn't _that_ just a despairing thought. Me? The fearless, intuitive leader actually _needed_ someone?

Perish the fucking thought.

But every once and a while, your unconscious mind can be a real prick, Because grandstanding, stubbornness, and even feministic ideals aside, all those emotions, actions, and thoughts aside, I **did** need that mangy, red haired bastard.

I needed him more than in the normal way that people need each other these days. I needed him because when he was around I finally felt complete, safe, and …_right_ in all the ways I never thought I _could_ be before this moment, this situation, hell even this plague.

And you know what? As I stood there, mute and restless in the low darkness of a bedroom that was not my own, fingers tightening threateningly across the span of that dark cherry wood frame, I found that I was no longer ashamed, or even scared to admit it.

I needed him. I _loved_ him. And in my fear and stubborn pride I had never told him. _Not even once._ God..I had never even hinted.

I could face down a growling, slavering mob of the undead with only a shotgun and my balls, and yet I couldn't even muster up the courage to tell the man I wanted, the man I…_loved_ how I felt?

What had been there to stop me? It was already the end of the bloody world! I mean really, what was there for me to lose!

Except now it was too late wasn't it? I had left, checked out, vamoosed! Gone on a fucking siesta! Hell! For all intents and purposes I had_** left him**_ and his ex-military ass back home while I decided to go gallivanting across country on a crazy-ass wild goose chase that was not so cleverly disguised as a death wish!

Jesus Fuck! What was I doing out here?

With a cut off sob I threw the picture down in the direction of the bed, not even registering the soft, hushing sound it made as the frame tumbled down the small mound of dress pillows, going end over end until with a muted thud, it stopped, picture side down admist the tangled web of sheets and blankets.

Breathing audibly, I chewed on the inside of my cheek. I felt abruptly restless, closed in, _trapped._ I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't be out on my own away from everyone I knew and loved, away from my _responsibilities._

_I shouldn't have even left home in the first place. Foolish, stupid, selfish!_

I should grab my gear right this moment, say hell to the dangers of the night, and turn those big, worn truck tires back in the direction of home.

_I should..But I wouldn't._

Because in my heart I knew that my fear, anger, and frustration wasn't going to be enough, because come sunrise I _knew_ that I would swing my sorry ass back into the cab of that old rust bucket of a truck, and peel out of this place in a cloud of dust, pulverized pebbles, and dirt. My tires turning west and eating up the miles towards …_home._

_**End A/N: Sorry if this totally blows. I felt pressured to get this damn chapter posted. Good or bad, let me know what you think!**_


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